


The Original Big O Season Three

by aclockworktomato



Category: The Big O
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Androids, F/M, Giant Robots, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 10:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 123,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17262974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aclockworktomato/pseuds/aclockworktomato
Summary: A 13-episode Big O Season Three I wrote in the 13 weeks after the end of Season 2. Mysteries revealed! Giant robot battles! A villain redeemed by the love of a good android! Fistfights! Dastardly schemes foiled! Love triangles! Secret weapons! The world saved! True love!





	1. Act 27: We Have a New World

**Act 27: We Have a New World**

 

The world had vanished, leaving only two endless, perfectly flat grid-marked planes: one above, and one below, on which the giant robots Big O and Big Venus were the sole remaining objects. Standing on the command desk of Big O, Roger finished his appeal to Angel and stepped through from Big O into Angel’s control room. Dorothy was right behind him. He put his hand on Angel’s shoulder.

  
Dorothy said, “Roger the negotiator.” The lights went out.

*  *  *

A moment later Roger could make out his dimly lit surroundings. He was in the middle of an underground chamber, similar to the one where he had found Gordon, Angel, and Vera earlier in the day. Most of the overhead lights were off. There was no control room. There were no cameras. There was no set. The room was empty. An exit sign glowed in the distance.

“Is it over?” Roger asked. “Did it work?”

Angel said nothing, but sank slowly to the floor, where she sat with her head bowed.

“Call Norman,” said Dorothy. Roger triggered his watch.

Norman answered immediately. “Ah, Master Roger. The repair crew has just finished. Big O is ready for action. But I do not believe he will be needed. We have just received word that there was an explosion in Big Fau’s hangar. Apparently there was a malfunction. Alex Rosewater was killed. Also, an enormous Megadeus burst through the street, but was immediately destroyed; no one knows how. The city is quiet.”

“That’s good,” said Roger.

“But Miss Dorothy is missing.”

“She’s with me, Norman. Thanks. I’ll explain when I get there.”

He turned to Dorothy, jubilant. “Angel did it! It worked!” He swept her into his arms, then paused. “Let me see your hairband.”

Dorothy obediently popped off the imitation hair band and revealed the empty slot which had once contained much of her memory circuitry. She said calmly, “I’m the same as before.”

“Whew! For a minute there I was afraid Angel had turned you into a human.” He hugged her.

“No. I’m still me,” she said. “Angel would have been better off turning herself into an android,” said Dorothy in a matter-of-fact voice. “Because…”

But her words were cut off by his passionate kiss.

When the kiss ended, her eyes were closed and she was swaying slightly. She continued in the same tone as before, “Because once a human has tasted android love, there’s no going back.”

“You made that up.”

“I am making a prediction.”

They were interrupted by a sob from Angel. They turned. She was still sitting on the floor, her eyes shut tight, tears streaming down her face.

“Angel,” said Roger, “Are you all right?”

“It was _horrible_ ,” said Angel in a quiet, broken voice. “The fate of the world was put into my hands. How could anyone put the fate of the world into _my_ hands? I don’t know how to be a god, I don’t even know how to be a human being! I had all this power, and I didn’t know what to do! I’m so unworthy, so unready, how could they have done it? I was raised to be filled with hatred and it was all just lies, I don’t even know if I was ever a little girl at all, how could anyone have trusted me?” As she spoke, she became more and more hysterical.

Roger hoisted her to her feet and took her into his arms. “It’s over now, Angel. It’s over. You’re human now. You won’t ever have to do it again.”

She clung to him but seemed not to hear. “I didn’t know what to do, Roger. I had to make the world over again, and I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t know what I wanted. _I_ don’t know how to make a better world! All I was ever taught was to destroy. I’ve never been so frightened, and I felt so guilty! Then you spoke to me and I knew that I didn’t have to tear it down at all. I could keep it going, just the way it was, except that I could rewind time just a little bit to avoid all the destruction, so nobody would have to die. Except for that swine Alex Rosewater. What kind of _idiot_ wants to be a god? And Vera, too. So they’re gone, and may they rot in hell! But I put the rest back, just like it was. I was afraid to try to make anything better. I didn’t know what I was doing, Roger!” And she began to sob quietly against his shoulder.

Dorothy said, “You did it just right, Angel.”

Roger said, “Yeah, you did great, Angel. We’re proud of you.” He looked over Angel’s shoulder at Dorothy, who nodded fractionally. He lifted Angel’s chin and kissed her gently on the mouth. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

Angel forced a smile. “You always were a sweet-talker, Mr. Negotiator.” She let go of him and staggered for a couple of steps.

“She’s bleeding,” said Dorothy. “There are eight bloodstains on her back.”

Roger looked. Sure enough, there were eight round bloodstains soaking through her suit. “How did that happen?” he asked.

Dorothy replied, “They’re from the probe cables of Big Venus.”

“But I was never in Big Venus!” wailed Angel. “I was in a control room! Here! Underground!”

“First aid first,” said Dorothy. “Metaphysics later. Roger, do you know where we are?”

Roger looked down the strangely lit corridor. “I think so. We’re not far from the house.”

“Lead the way. I will help Angel.” And with this, Dorothy picked Angel up in her arms with no apparent effort. To Angel, she said, “The rate of bleeding is quite moderate. Norman has a well-stocked dispensary, and no doubt a doctor can be summoned.”

Roger snorted. “Every doctor in the city is already overloaded with casualties…no, wait, that’s not right, is it?”

He called Norman and warned him of Angel’s injuries.

Soon they reached a corridor that Roger felt was definitely familiar, and a few minutes later they reached the private elevator into the mansion. It was choked with rubble at ground level, so they went around to a street-level exit. Angel shook off Dorothy’s assistance and walked the remaining distance. She had stopped crying but seemed dazed.

Norman ushered them inside before they could knock and led them to a parlor where a doctor was already waiting. As Angel’s suit was being removed, Roger excused himself and went to visit Big O.

There he was, as good as new. It was a strange feeling. “How does it feel to you, Big O?” asked Roger as he took the elevator up to the cockpit. Even before he reached the command deck, he could tell that Big O felt…smug.

He stepped into the cockpit, and it was just as it had been before the fight. All in good repair, with the usual controls in evidence, the others out of sight. So strange…

And then, behind his chair, he saw a puddle of water, a discarded wet suit, and a crumpled scuba tank. Roger touched them, hardly believing that they were real.

“If anything, this makes even less sense than before,” he said. Big O’s feeling of smugness was unabated.

“You know, Big O,” he said, smiling. “I think that the people who direct this world are very sloppy about their props. There’s stuff lying around from old productions that nobody has ever bothered to clear away. There are leftover memories lying around, too. That’s what I think. So whatever the people—if they are people—running this world are trying to do, the evidence is confused by their slapdash methods.” He poked around a little more. “Well, I don’t suppose everyone can have Norman keeping things spick and span.”

“Dorothy’s going to need a chair in here, too,” he said. “I’ll go tell Norman.”

When he returned to the parlor, Angel had been put to bed, lightly sedated, in one of the guest rooms. Dorothy was with her. Norman took Roger aside and said, “Master Roger, the doctor said that her wounds are not dangerous, but they are rather deep and will bear watching. He will be back again in three days. Also, they almost but not quite line up with the pattern of old scars on her back.”

“Thank you, Norman.”

“There is one other thing, Master Roger. This morning, I had a sudden vision of a terrifying bombing of the city and a battle between Big O and Big Fau, which included Miss Dorothy waking up and rushing off to rescue you. But what really happened was that Big Fau blew up before any damage could be done. I have asked several other people, and they said they had the same hallucination, in many cases even encompassing their own deaths.”

“It really happened, Norman. But Angel, Dorothy and I—mostly Angel—made it unhappen.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Tomorrow we’ll want to call up Dastun and get him to rescind the order for Angel’s arrest.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And also the order calling for Beck’s execution.”

“Indeed, sir? Ah, yes. I remember now.”

“That was good work that Angel did, Norman. She made it so today’s events didn’t happen, but she left people’s memories of it. I don’t think anyone could have done better.”

“Yes, indeed, sir.”

“And then we need to get our hands on a flying machine. Schwarzwald’s the only person who’s seen the superstructure above Paradigm up close, and maybe it has some clues for us.”

“Very good, sir.”

*  *  *

Roger woke slowly, the memories of the past day’s events mingled with dreams and nightmares, so he didn’t know which were true. He reached for Dorothy, beside him.

She wasn’t there.

Startled, he opened his eyes. It was full daylight. He groped for his watch. It was almost noon. Surely she would have wakened him with her piano?

Had it all been a dream? A fantasy? His heart froze as he thought of her lying cold and still and dead, such a short time ago. Frantically, he tore himself out of bed and plunged out of his bedroom, heading to where she…

Dorothy and Angel were sitting at the dining room table, talking quietly. He sagged with relief; heart pounding, knees weak. Everything was all right.

After a moment he regained his composure. Dorothy was dressed for the day and looked trim and composed, as she always did. Angel looked surprisingly good, too, under the circumstances, in pink silk pajamas and a pink robe. She had put on her makeup and done up her hair. The weight of their collective grooming made him feel scruffy in his rumpled pajamas, bare feet, and uncombed hair, but he pushed the thought aside. He approached the two women. They looked up.

“God, Roger, you look worse than I feel,” said Angel.

“I have some fresh coffee ready,” said Dorothy.

Roger sat down at the table and accepted a cup. “Sorry I overslept.”

“You earned it,” said Angel. “We all did, but I couldn’t sleep after the sedatives wore off, and Dorothy never sleeps, so it was all up to you.”

“I see,” said Roger. “Thanks, I guess.”

Norman appeared. “What would you like for breakfast, Master Roger?”

“Norman, right now I can’t tell if I’m starving or if I couldn’t touch a thing.”

Norman smiled and said, “Very good, sir,” and withdrew to the kitchen. A short time later he appeared with an enormous breakfast of ham, eggs, pancakes, sausages, toast, and fruit.

Roger ate it all. He was silent during breakfast. Dorothy patiently refilled his coffee cup three times. He was still a little groggy, and hadn’t really absorbed all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. But there was also a deep underlying happiness.

When Norman took his plate, Roger asked, “What’s on the agenda today, if anything?”

Norman replied, “Colonel Dastun called earlier. He says he has a job for Paradigm City’s top negotiator. Also, Miss Dorothy and I will be talking to the architect about repairing the building. The damage to the wall may possibly have rendered the building unstable, and this must be assessed immediately. I am also thinking that we should add a street-level door for Big O, now that his location is no longer a secret.”

“Maybe it should be.”

“Perhaps, sir, but if we choose a secret location for Big O, it would help if there were also a public location where everyone believed him to be.”

“Take care of it, Norman.”

Roger went down to his office and called Dastun. He was in a meeting, but had left word to be told when Roger called.

“Roger! About time you called. Listen, people are raising six kinds of hell down at the city hall, and we need your help to straighten it all out.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“What isn’t the problem? Alex Rosewater is dead, and now the government doesn’t have a head. And those visions everyone had yesterday, they’ve gotten a lot of people thinking. The problem is, most of ‘em aren’t very good at it. Some of them see it as a warning, and think we should clean up the government right now, and others see it as a fake, a conspiracy of some kind, and want to hunker down and do everything just the same as they did when Rosewater was alive. And then there are your basic power grabbers who want to fill Rosewater’s shoes or just take as much loot and influence as they can get away with in the confusion.”

“Sounds bad,” said Roger.

“Actually, it might work out okay. Like I said, a lot of people have taken it as a warning, but not everybody, so we’re either going to have a nice breather where we can make some forward progress for once, or there’s going to be blood in the streets. And there’s another thing.”

“What’s that?”

“A lot of people on the force remember me taking a pot shot at Big Fau. My superiors, for one thing. And a lot of guys remember breaking ranks and following my example. So there are lots of people on the force who think I’m some kind of hero. But my superiors probably don’t see it that way. And there’s one more thing.”

“Oh?”

“Big O isn’t a secret anymore. Not even a little bit. Everyone knows that Paradigm’s top negotiator has a Megadeus backing him up. So they’ll listen to you. Even the people who were too snooty to pay attention before.”

“I’m not sure I like that,” said Roger.

“Too late now. But it’s like being a cop. That’s how I figure it. When you’re a cop, everyone knows you’ve got a gun. But they also know that you aren’t going to shoot them unless you do something really, really stupid. Lots more stupid than anything they usually do. But still, the idea that they might get a bullet hole in them if they act more idiotically than usual, well, it puts them on their best behavior. The think and listen a little more and yell a lot less. That’s all I’m saying. It’s like that with Big O. Nobody’s going to think that Big O will squash them like a bug if they don’t come to terms during the first meeting, but … it’s like the cop and his gun.”

“I understand,” said Roger. “When shall we have our first meeting?”

“Can you be here in an hour? We can be ready by then. There are some senators who want to talk about the succession. It’s always been a Rosewater, but we’re fresh out, so we’ll have to do something new. But not so new that we end up with blood in the streets.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Oh, and Roger?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know what happened to that Angel character? Patricia Lovejoy—you know who I mean. She used to be Rosewater’s secretary and probably knows where all the bodies are buried.”

“Did Norman call you about canceling that arrest warrant?”

“I did that myself a few days ago. Look, do you know where she is or not?”

“She’s staying with me.”

“Well, lucky you. Bring her with you if you can. I’d like to talk to her.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Bye, Dastun.”

“See ya, Roger.”

Angel and Dorothy were still in the dining room, talking. Or, at least, every once in a while a sentence escaped the lips of one woman or the other.

“Angel, how would you like to go for a ride?”

“Where to?”

“People are trying to figure out what to do to keep the government running now that Alex Rosewater is dead, and Dan Dastun thinks you might be able to identify some of the snakes and weasels.”

“Colonel Dastun? The man who gave me back my gun?”

“The very same.”

“He’s not going to arrest me or anything, is he?”

“He canceled your arrest warrant a few days ago.”

“Well … all right. Sure. Just give me a minute to change.”

She departed, moving a little stiffly.

Roger turned to Dorothy and raised an eyebrow.

She said, “Does it mean something different if you raise the left eyebrow rather than the right?”

“No.”

“Then the answer is, be alone with her whenever you like.”

Roger winced. “Dorothy!”

“Are you sure about the eyebrows?”

“No.”

“What I meant to say was, her injuries are troubling her, so you should be safe from her for a day or two at least.”

Roger smiled. “That’s better.” He reached for her, but she backed away.

“I’ll go help her change now. Her injuries have left her stiff.” She departed.

*  *  *

In the car, Roger said, “That was the longest minute I ever saw.”

“What?” asked Angel.

“‘Give me a minute to change,’ you said. It’s been more than half an hour.”

“Dorothy said your appointment wasn’t for an hour. She unpacked the suitcases she brought from my apartment this morning, and we a nice chat. Well, a lengthy one. For her.”

“How are you two getting along?”

“I either love her like a sister or I want to hit her with a brick. Sometimes both at once.”

Roger smiled. “That’s our Dorothy.”

“I don’t understand why she isn’t trying to get rid of me. I would. When I woke up, there were four suitcases waiting for me. I could stay for weeks! I nearly cried.”

“Did you ask her about it?”

“Would you?” asked Angel.

He shook his head ruefully. “No.”

“Well, in fact, I did. I asked her why she was being so kind, and she said that it was nice to see some clothing that wasn’t black for a change.”

When they reached the Main Dome, they picked up a police escort that whisked them to City Hall through the light afternoon traffic. The sight of the escort alerted Roger that something was up: Dastun cared nothing for ceremony.

They were ushered into an underground garage and taken up to one of the big conference rooms. A number of senators were there. Roger had had dealings with one or two of them. None of the worst snakes and weasels were present, but all of the most honest and upright senators were. This looked promising.

Angel was introduced as Patricia Lovejoy, the name she used as Rosewater’s secretary, to the few people in the room who didn’t know her already. Roger was introduced to the larger number of people who had never met him.

The meeting was about to begin when the phone rang. Dastun picked it up and said, “Dastun.”

Roger’s watch beeped. “What is it, Norman?”

“Master Roger, a Megadeus has emerged from the river at the closest point to the house and is heading directly for it.”

*  *  *

The architect had drawn a realistic sketch of the building, showing its shattered side and the gaping hole into Big O’s hangar. The drawing, two feet wide and three high, was spread out on the dining room table. Now he overlaid this with a sheet of textured plastic and drew in his proposed repairs in quick, sure strokes. First, a lattice of temporary beams and girders to shore up the damage, then permanent repairs in concrete and steel. Over that, a layer of masonry to match the original look of the building. But dominating it all was an enormous pair of steel doors that would allow Big O to exit directly onto the street.

Dorothy watched with rapt attention. She had never considered the merits of drawing before; not as an activity for her. Roger’s oil paintings had not revealed the depth and subtlety that two-dimensional art could take on in the hands of a master.

She stiffened. Then she raced to the emergency stairs. The elevator would be too slow.

“Big O!” she called. “It’s showtime!”

A rumbling from within the building showed that he had heard.

“It is too late to escape underground,” she said as she ran.

She reached the fourth-floor hangar access door and pelted out onto the catwalk. She vaulted the rail at the end of the catwalk and landed in command deck. The throat hatch closed behind her.

Seating herself in the command seat, she removed her hairband and sat motionless for a moment as the eight probe cables rose like snakes and deftly plugged themselves into the slot in her skull.

The cockpit dome lowered and locked. The screen in front of her lit up and said,

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD…  
YE NOT GUILTY.

As the last message blinked, Dorothy, sitting primly in the seat with her hands folded in her lap, called, “Big O! Action!”

Big O strode out of the hole in the hangar wall, emerging just as another Megadeus appeared, turning the corner and entering their street at a jog. It was old; most of its yellow and black paint was worn away, but it was fully operational. It was dripping water and kelp clung to one shoulder. Big O leaned forward, raised his left arm protectively, and prepared to pile-drive the newcomer with his right fist.

Dorothy spoke in a perfectly calm voice, “I cannot kill, Big O. You know that. Only Roger can make that decision.”

Big O continued forward. The onrushing Megadeus slowed to meet him. Big O slammed his fist into the other Megadeus’ shoulder, causing it to stumble backwards. Then Big O raised both arms protectively and began to march backwards down the road, toward the domes.

The Megadeus, recovering, raised its left arm. The hand withdrew and a weapon appeared; some kind of cannon, by the look of it. On Dorothy’s command, Big O’s upper torso suddenly opened and three missiles fired from his right side. The upper torso snapped back. Big O pivoted on his right foot.

The Megadeus fired its cannon hurriedly, before the missiles could hit, and missed. The projectile dug a long trench in the road and then exploded, creating a crater fifty feet long and almost as deep. Two of the missiles missed, and Dorothy exploded them harmlessly in the air. By pure luck (they had not waited for target lock), the third one struck the cannon arm, perhaps doing some damage, but not disabling it.

Big O resumed his backward march, hurrying this time.

“Maybe he will fall into the crater,” said Dorothy. “The smoke and dust hide it completely.”

In fact, the Megadeus did fall into the crater, and this allowed Big O to stretch his lead by a block.

“Oh!” said Dorothy suddenly. “They have isolated the core memory and installed overrides.” The Megadeus was trapped in his own mind. There is no Dominus; only a pilot.

The Megadeus emerged from the crater on hands and knees. Its back armor lifted away from its body.

“A net,” said Dorothy calmly, a second or two before the spinning web of chains and hooks whirled toward them. She directed Big O to use his eye lasers. The net was sliced in half. The two parts separated and smashed into the buildings on either side.

They were getting close to Main Dome. Roger’s face appeared on a screen. He was inside a Military Police tank. “We’ve had some trouble with snipers, Dorothy. How much longer?”

“Twelve seconds,” she said. Big O backed into a cross street. Three more steps brought him to the tank.

When Roger entered to command deck, Dorothy sprang from the cockpit and landed behind it, the eight cables still radiating from her head.

Roger sat down at the command seat and crossed his forearms. Once more, the front monitor displayed:

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD…  
YE NOT GUILTY.

The hand controls, which had not appeared for Dorothy, slid down their slots. Roger grasped them. “Big O! Action!”

Big O’s movements took on a new character: aggressive, menacing. Big O did not like playing defense. He and Roger were eager to come to grips with the other Megadeus.

“Do not kill the Megadeus,” said Dorothy calmly. “He is the first sane one we have seen since Dorothy One. We will want to keep him.”

“What about the pilot?” asked Roger.

“I know nothing about him. I would not harm him no matter how evil he was. Life and death are your decisions, Dominus.”

“Don’t call me that! And lock onto something non-vital with those missiles.”

Big O leapt forward and grabbed the other Megadeus’ damaged left  arm in his right, then used his left-hand pile driver to smash the shoulder joint twice in rapid succession. The arm hung limp, useless. Meanwhile, the other Megadeus had transformed its right hand into some kind of brightly glowing weapon.

“Plasma lance,” reported Dorothy calmly, “Effective range, two meters. Time to penetrate our armor, one-half second.”

“Yipe! This no-killing business is really dangerous to us, I hope you know that, Dorothy.”

The Megadeus swung its plasma lance. Big O blocked with his left. The lance plunged deep into Big O’s forearm, and the other Megadeus sawed it this way and that. Gouts of painfully bright flame erupted from Big O’s arm. Rivers of molten steel poured onto the street. Big O tried to pull his arm away from the lance, but could not.

“Magnetic grapples,” said Dorothy.

A large chunk of Big O’s left forearm fell smoking to the ground. The lance, stuck briefly to the falling armor, was withdrawn. Big O punched the Megadeus in the chest with his right hand and took a step back.

“Missiles locked,” said Dorothy.

“Fire!”

Big O shot five missiles from his left side, aimed at the Megadeus’ undamaged arm. Three of them missed, and Dorothy exploded them harmlessly in the air. One hit the Megadeus in the arm, and one in the shoulder, causing it to stagger for two or three paces, then, unable to use its left arm for balance, it fell heavily on its back.

It started to rise, but suddenly began to twitch all over, and then to writhe. It was a horrible sight. The Megadeus’ eyes suddenly lit. Roger realized that they had been dark before.

“The fall has damaged the override circuitry,” reported Dorothy. “The Megadeus is regaining his freedom.”

“And that’s good, right?”

“Yes.”

The watched the Megadeus in silence for a moment. It did seem to be gaining control of itself.

Roger asked, “Tell me, do all Megadeuses have gender to you?”

“So far.”

“You used to call them all ‘it.’”

“Because everyone else did. My way is better.”

Suddenly the other Megadeus heaved itself to its feet. Its motions were still slightly jerky and twitchy. Its throat hatch opened, and a man was ejected. He fell in a horrible spinning tumble to the broken pavement below.

The throat hatch closed. The eyes of the Megadeus went out.

Dorothy said, “He requires repairs, but his mind is intact and he will choose a sane Dominus.” Then, almost without a pause, she added, “Did you say snipers?”

“What? Oh, yes, at least two people were set to pick me off when I ran out to meet Big O. Dan Dastun somehow guessed this might happen, and snuck me out a back door into one of his armored vehicles.”

“Who were they?”

“I don’t know. It’s sad to think that yesterday’s events only reduced the number of villains in the world by two. We’ve been given our world back, but Angel didn’t pretty it up for us.”

“Thank goodness. I never would have forgiven her if she had turned me into a human.”

“Me, either. I like you just the way you are.”

She walked around the console and they embraced. After kissing her for a moment, he raised his head and asked, “Big O? Do you mind?”

The cables removed themselves from Dorothy’s skull, and Roger and Dorothy returned to their embrace.

*  *  *

Roger and Dorothy were examining the architect’s sketch—which had been moved to a side table, as it was nearly dinner time—when Norman entered the room.

“Colonel Dastun and Miss Angel have arrived, Master Roger,” he said.

“About time,” said Roger. “Show them in, Norman.”

Norman nodded. “Fifteen minutes until supper time,” he said.

A moment later he showed Dastun and Angel into the room. Angel looked very much the worse for wear, pale and exhausted. Norman pulled out a chair for her at the dining room table and she sank into it.

Dastun looked uncomfortable. He had his hat in his hands and was turning it around and around. “It’s my fault,” he said. “I kept her too long, and I didn’t notice she was getting tired.” He sighed. “It’s been a strange day.”

“Have a seat,” said Roger.

Dastun waved the offer away. He turned to Dorothy. “I was pleased to learn of your recovery, Miss Wayneright,” he said, awkward but sincere.

“Call me Dorothy, Colonel.”

“It’s Dan.”

“Thank you. Please, sit down.”

Dastun sank into the seat gratefully.

Dorothy turned her steady gaze on Angel, and after a moment said, “I’ll just see Angel to her room.” Angel murmured an agreement. Dorothy helped her to her feet and the two of them headed to Angel's room, which like the dining room was on the eighth floor.

“Drink?” asked Roger. “And we ought to send one to Angel. I wish I could remember what she drinks.” A moment later, Norman appeared with a tray. He placed a bottle of beer and a glass before Roger, a scotch on the rocks in front of Dastun, and walked off towards the guest rooms, two cocktails still on the tray.

“Will they be back?” asked Dastun.

“Norman will let us know.”

Dastun sighed. “What a day. Look, I’m really sorry about Angel. I forgot all about her when that Megadeus appeared, and then when I finally remembered her and started talking to her, she had all kinds of information that we needed right away, and the interview went on and on. She never complained or anything, and suddenly I saw she’d gone all pale. So I brought her home right away. Besides, I need to talk to you.”

“Very gentlemanly of you.”

“Do you really have both those women living under the same roof with you?”

“And if I do?”

“Well, god help you, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Well, if you’re going to heap me with abuse, I suppose that makes this a social occasion. We’ll be having dinner in a few minutes. Stick around.”

“Thanks, I will. But I’ll have to talk business.”

“Not during dinner, you won’t. That’s another one of my rules.”

Norman returned. “The two ladies will be joining us momentarily,” he reported, and withdrew into the kitchen.

“You should have stayed on the force,” said Dastun when Norman had gone. “You get a free funeral. That’s going to be an important benefit for someone like you. Don’t say you weren’t warned. When those two square off, you’re not going to be the prize, you’re gonna be the battlefield.”

“In case you were wondering,” said Roger. “Angel is up for grabs, as far as I’m concerned.”

“You don’t get a vote, pal,” said Dastun. “It’s been nice knowing you.”

A discreet cough made Roger turn around. Norman gestured with his eyes. Male bonding time was over. The ladies were returning.

Angel had changed into a fresh outfit and looked a lot better, though just a little glassy-eyed. Roger realized that the doctor must have left her some painkillers, and that she hadn’t brought any with her on her trip to the Domes. Dorothy looked the same as always, which he suddenly realized meant a lot to him. It reminded him of that terrible day when he had almost been killed by R. D., and Big O had suddenly appeared, and there was Dorothy, all fresh and unruffled, an island of sanity in a world gone mad. He smiled at her. She did not smile back, but raised her eyes to look directly into his. Something … complex … passed between them, leaving behind a thrill of pleasure.

He turned to his guests. Angel had missed the exchange, but Dastun had a goofy little smile on his face, and Norman’s expression was suspiciously blank.

Norman withdrew and almost immediately appeared with the soup course. They ate almost in silence. Dorothy’s table manners were perfect. It was hard to believe that there had been a time when he thought her whirring noises and exaggeratedly robotic motions were real, and not an act she did to annoy people or to let them know she was an android without saying anything. She could pass easily for human in most circumstances.

Of course, eating and drinking were just a social convention; she derived no physical benefit from it. It occurred to him that she was dispensing with food more and more when they were alone, and sometimes even when they had company, as this morning when she had commandeered the coffee pot and poured for him and Angel, while consuming nothing herself. But Dastun was less used to her, and she must feel that blending in would help set him at his ease.

The meal went on in relative silence. Recent events had deprived them of small talk.

Eventually, Norman cleared the dessert dishes away and returned with the coffee service, which Dorothy commandeered as she had at breakfast, pouring for everyone but herself. This left Norman without an excuse to remain in the room, but he simply withdrew a pace and remained anyway.

Dastun cleared his throat. “So can I talk business now, Roger?”

“I suppose.”

Dorothy asked, “Shall the ladies withdraw?”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d stay, Dorothy,” replied Dastun. “Angel, I don’t want to keep you if you’re tired.”

“I’ll stay for a little while at least,” said Angel.

“Well, now,” said Dastun, taking a notebook out of his coat pocket and riffling through it until he found a page with a list scribbled on it, “The first thing I want to know is, how did Big O do all that stuff before he even reached you?”

“It’s a secret,” said Roger.

Dastun sighed. “All right, then, let me put it another way. Is Big O doing this on his own, or was Norman or someone piloting him?”

“He was piloted, Dan. But he can’t be piloted by strangers, if that’s what you’re thinking, and his actions are very limited when he’s on his own.”

“All right, then.” He wrote something down in his notebook. “Next question. You wanted me to rescind the execution order for Beck. Okay, that’s done. The execution order was illegal, anyway. But he has most of a long prison sentence still to serve. Do you know where he is?”

“Haven’t a clue,” said Roger truthfully.

“Didn’t think so. Next question. What are we supposed to do with that other Megadeus?”

“Wait a minute,” said Roger, “It’s my turn to ask a question. Who was behind that Megadeus and the snipers?”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot—we found that out after you left. We took one of the snipers alive. He was a Union agent. So was the Megadeus’ pilot.”

Angel gasped. “But…”

Dastun nodded sympathetically. “I know. You told me. The Union agents are all there is. The folks back home they’re allegedly doing this for don’t even exist. So you say.”

“Gordon Rosewater told me.”

“But he didn’t tell _them_. I guess they’re still living in a fool’s paradise. Anyway, Roger, what happened is this. They have a talent for finding Megadeuses out in the wastelands and converting them over to remote control, bypassing the core memories and turning them into directly piloted or radio-controlled robots. We’ve seen this before. And they’ve cobbled together some less sophisticated robots of their own. Well, they had another one ready to go. This time, they knew where Big O’s hangar was, so they decided to wait until you were as far from Big O as possible, and they’d attack Big O in his hangar. You’re only a few blocks from the river, so they could get really close if they could stay underwater until they reached the shore. Then a quick dash, catch Big O before he could escape underground, and bingo! No more Megadeus protecting Paradigm.”

“That’s an ugly thought,” said Roger.

“Tell me about it. I’ve got the military engineers working on riverfront defenses that might slow a Megadeus down next time, but nothing’s going to give you the kind of protection that secrecy did.”

“So when do they try next?” asked Roger.

“Well, the guy we caught said that the pilot of the Megadeus was their robotics genius, and that with him dead, they won’t be able to cobble together any more robots. So maybe that particular threat is gone for a while.”

“Hmmm…” said Roger.

“So is it my turn to ask a question?” asked Dastun.

“Go ahead.”

“What am I supposed to with that Megadeus?”

Dorothy said, “He’s one of the sane Megadeuses, like Big O and Dorothy One. He’s not one of the crazy ones like Big Fau or Big Duo. If you leave him alone, he will find a Dominus that suits him.”

Dastun, alarmed, asked, “So what’s it going to do, walk around the city and knock on doors? Is it going to hold a casting call?”

“I don’t think so,” said Dorothy. “I think a suitable Dominus will be drawn to him.”

“So we can just sit back and let things happen?”

“If the Union still has agents around,” said Dorothy, “they may try to destroy him.”

“Crash barriers,” muttered Dastun. “Searchlights. Guards. Artillery. Well, we can do that.”

“Just don’t shoot the true Dominus,” said Roger.

“How can I tell which is which?” asked Dastun.

“If you try to shoot the true Dominus, the Megadeus will attack you,” replied Roger.

“Thanks a lot. I really needed to hear that.”

Roger said, “Just don’t let anyone with a wheelbarrow full of explosives or a cutting torch get too close to the Megadeus, for their own safety, really. But if people with empty hands want to approach it, let them.”

“And this is all going to work out? The guy who gets the Megadeus is going to be true-blue and on our side?”

“Not necessarily,” said Dorothy. “He will be sane. That doesn’t mean he will be a nice person. He may turn out to be a louse with no fashion sense.”

*  *  *

Late that night, while the city slept, a man moved cautiously towards the abandoned Megadeus. It was brilliantly illuminated by searchlights. He wasn’t sure why he was so interested in it—it didn’t really fit in with any of his plans—but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It was foggy and still and the guards were lax, warming their hands over a fire in an oil drum and not paying attention to what was going on around them.

The man squeezed between the crash barriers and began to stroll casually towards the Megadeus, a crooked smile on his face. This slowly faded as he got closer, and was replaced by a look of wonder. He walked right up to the enormous right foot of the Megadeus. A panel silently slid open. The lights inside the compartment illuminated the man briefly, highlighting his curly blond hair and yellow suit. He stepped inside and the panel slid shut.

The Megadeus’ eyes lit. A moment later, it began to stride toward the wastelands.

**[No Side]**


	2. Act 28: Returning to the Dead

**Act 28: Returning to the Dead**

The well-dressed executives stood up from the conference table and prepared to leave. Roger Smith crossed over to General Dastun and smiled. Angel followed.

“Well, General, I think that went pretty well,” he said, looking sharp, if smug, in his flawless black suit.

“It could have been worse,” said Dastun, trying to sound as grouchy as usual and failing. “You found a lot more middle ground than I would have thought.”

His brand-new general’s stars had been pinned hastily to his collar, and they were not on the same level. Angel walked up to him and unpinned one of the stars, then put it back, level with the other. She smoothed down his collar and said. “Congratulations, Dan. God knows you’ve earned this.”

Dastun actually blushed under her ministrations. “Thanks.”

Roger asked, “And what are you going to do now that you’re the head of the Military Police?”

Dan picked up his papers and motioned for the others to follow them to the funicular trains that served as elevators here. “Look for my replacement, for one thing,” he said. “The number one guy has to spend all his time working with the politicians. I don’t like that kind of work and, frankly, I’m not that good at it. It’s the number two guy who actually runs the force.

“But right now, Roger, I’m trying to straighten out the mess Alex Rosewater left behind. What a snake pit! He had all sorts of secret research projects and I don’t know how many secret factories. You know those scorpion robots, the ones that kidnapped Dorothy? He had a factory running around the clock making those things. Top secret—we didn’t have a clue. We’re not sure what to do with them—we’ve got about two hundred in inventory and about another fifty that are unaccounted for, probably stolen by parties unknown. And that’s not the worst of it.”

“Oh?” said Roger. The shuttle train arrived and they stepped aboard.

“Rosewater’s office was ransacked before we got there. Most of the records are missing. We don’t know what we’re looking for, we don’t know where it is, and half the time, when we find it, we won’t know what we’re looking at.”

“What do you think about this, Angel?”

Angel laughed bitterly, “Oh, no. Keep me out of this. I’ve told the military police everything I know three times over. But Dan’s right. Things are a mess. Alex had a lot of irons in the fire, and he was incredibly secretive. He let me in on some things and tried to give the impression that that’s all there was, but that was just puppet-master stuff to keep the Union happy. He had plenty more where that came from.”

They reached the garage level and stepped off the train.

Roger asked, “Can you make it over for dinner tonight, Dan?”

“Sorry. I’ve got a meeting with the police commission. Say hello to Dorothy for me.”

“Will do.”

Angel and Roger drove off. After driving in silence for some time, Roger said, “I don’t think I ever saw Dastun blush before.”

“He must not get out much. Does he have any social life at all? Any family?”

“Not really.”

“He ought to find a nice girl and settle down.”

“He likes you,” said Roger.

Angel glared at him. “I’m not a nice girl. And don’t try to palm me off on him, Roger Smith.”

Roger said, “But you’d be…,” but Angel interrupted.

“He’s a great guy but he’s awkward around women, and if I let you shove me into his arms he just might fall for me, for a while.”

“Angel!” said Roger in exasperation. “You’re way too hard on yourself, you know!”

“Oh, I know you think so,” she said, still bitter. “You like strays. The less anybody else wants them, the more you like them. It’s just my bad luck that I’m only the second-least-plausible woman to come your way. I’m a spy and a traitor and maybe not even human, but she’s a machine.”

“Damn it, Angel!” he roared. “You can’t talk like that!”

“She’s not even very realistic. She never smiles, she weighs a ton, and half the time you can hear her whirring when she moves.”

“That’s not true!”

Fortunately, they reached home at this point, and the argument devolved into door-slamming followed by ignoring each other in the elevator.

They got off on the eighth floor. Angel turned right and headed towards her room, while Roger turned left for the spiral staircase leading up to the penthouse. He was still fuming.

Norman met him with a tray of drinks. “Welcome home, Master Roger,” he said. Gauging Roger’s mood, he omitted the usual, “I trust that all went well?”

“Dastun’s been put in charge of the military police. He’s a general now.”

“Excellent news, sir. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”

“Where’s Dorothy?”

“In the kitchen. She will join you in a moment.”

Roger grabbed a bottle of beer and a glass and stalked out onto the terrace. The weather was dreary and overcast, but at least it wasn’t raining. He paced.

Dorothy appeared, looking the way she always did. He held out his arms and they embraced. She kissed him briefly and then pulled away.

“You’re angry,” she said.

He sighed. “I had a fight with Angel.”

“Just an argument, I hope. Not a real fight,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Is she angry, too?”

“She sure is.”

“Angry enough to move out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Do you want her to?”

“No.”

They looked out at the city. The sun was setting somewhere behind the overcast. Lights were coming on. The city always looked better at night, at least from here.

After several minutes of silence, Dorothy said, “Roger.”

“Hmmm?” he said, still looking out at the city.

“I have a feeling about Angel.”

“Hmmm?”

“I think that there’s a tie that has not yet been cut, to her other role. Like me, before Beck removed my programming.”

“Oh?” He turned to face her.

“My programming compelled me to do things.”

“I know.”

“Sometimes I could master the compulsion if I wanted to badly enough.”

Roger considered this. “So, what you’re saying is, we really don’t want Angel to be alone and depressed.”

“And she’s a good friend. We should cheer her up.”

“I’ve been trying.”

“Yes, you’ve been very understanding. She is tired of that.”

“So what should I be doing?” he asked, stung.

“Visit some gun shops. Take her to a nightclub with horrible music and bad dancing. Help her find a little pink car that can deal death in all directions. Find a camera that can be concealed in an earring that copies pages without making a light. Set her to work spying out information. Tease her about her taste in clothes.”

This was the longest speech Roger had ever heard from Dorothy. “You’ve really been thinking about this.”

“Be a louse. She likes that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Roger, doubtfully. “But what about you?”

“I like you, too.”

“That’s not what I…” Roger stopped, confused. One reason he and Dorothy didn’t talk much about their relationship was that if she went on for more than a few sentences, his brain stopped working. It took a while for her ideas to sink in. Sure, right now she was teasing him, but there was always an underlying message, too.

Dorothy saw his confusion. “Take her a drink. Tell her dinner is in ten minutes. Ask her to find the remnants of my father’s workshop and notes.”

“Do you need any of that stuff?” asked Roger, alarmed.

“Not today. Later, certainly. But soon the trail will be too cold to follow.”

“That’s true,” said Roger. “I’ll get right to work.”

*  *  *

Dorothy opened the front door. It was morning, two days later. “Hello, General Dastun.”

“Hi, Dorothy. I have some stuff for you.” He waved to a policeman who was loading three cardboard boxes onto a hand truck.

“I’ll unlock the service elevator. This way. What is it?” She walked down the front steps and turned to the right. She opened an access box set into the wall and typed a code on the keypad. The service elevator emerged from the sidewalk.

“It’s papers that we think are related to Timothy Wayneright’s work, though we also think there’s miscellaneous material mixed up by accident,” said Dastun. “Some of the boxes had been spilled onto the floor and we’ve had to make some guesses. Angel told us where to look and said you were interested and, frankly, we want to keep a tight lid on the…” he looked around and changed his mind. “Ahem.”

Dorothy nodded.

The hand truck was rolled onto the elevator floor. Dastun told the policeman to wait outside. They took the elevator down to the first basement.

Dastun waited until they were some distance from the elevator before continuing. “We don’t want anyone to learn the link between androids and Megadeuses, or to learn anything at all about the core memory technology. I break out in a cold sweat every time I think about what would have happened if the Union had captured an android like you.”

“They would have destroyed Paradigm,” said Dorothy calmly.

“Yes, and it’s not too late for that, even now,” said Dastun.

“I will go through this material for you and let you know what I find.”

“That’s great, Dorothy. By the way, your father’s lab has been completely cleaned out. Not a scrap left. Amadeus’ lab, too. The job was done some time ago, probably on Alex’s orders. He went on a housecleaning kick sometime after he fell out with the Union. He didn’t want anything to fall into their hands.” He sighed. “It’s all probably sitting in a warehouse somewhere. We’ve got a lot of people knocking on doors and doing inventories. We’ll find it.”

“Thank you, General.”

“It’s still Dan, Dorothy.”

“Dan, is there any news about that last Megadeus?”

“No. The guards turned around just in time to see the door closing behind some guy, then it walked off. We lost it when it went underwater. We really ought to do something about that. Sensors or something. At least we’re getting a few patrol aircraft. It’s funny; I don’t know why we didn’t do that sooner.”

Dastun turned to leave via the regular elevator. Then he turned back. “Dorothy, I may be out of line here, but can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“Ummm . . . I don’t know how to ask this right, but . . . why aren’t you dead?” He looked embarrassed.

“It’s all right, Dan,” she said, and paused. Then she said, “It’s difficult to explain. What does a machine do on its day off?’”

“Nothing, I suppose,” said Dastun.

“That’s right. What does a person do on his day off?”

“Whatever he likes.”

Dorothy nodded. “The memories that Beck removed from my head were not the parts of me that allowed me to walk, or talk, or feel, or think, or remember. They were my orders. Instructions. Compulsions.”

“Programming?” suggested Dastun. “No offense,” he added hastily.

“It’s all right. That part of me _was_ programming. It told me what to do, what not to do, and sometimes how to think. And some of it was so basic, I didn’t know how to be me without it.”

“So what happened?” asked Dastun.

“I forgot I was me,” said Dorothy. “I was not unconscious; the information came in through my senses, but I wasn’t there to act upon it. So when Beck abandoned me, I was as rigid as a statue, and when Roger came to rescue me, I, I … , I didn’t … I wasn’t … he must have thought …” she stopped, bewildered.

After a moment she said, “I am not telling this very well.”

Dastun made a gesture that might have meant anything.

Dorothy continued, “I was like that for a long time. I was aware, but I wasn’t me. I wasn’t anybody. Roger … I … he …” she closed her eyes for a moment. She opened them and said, very carefully, “I knew he was in danger, but I didn’t … I didn’t … I …,” she stopped again. After a moment she said, “I can’t say that part.”

After a very long pause she went on, her words coming more fluently, “And then I knew that I could be R. Dorothy Wayneright if I chose to. I could! I had no programming. It was _my_ decision. And that tiny part of me that was, that was still me said, `I love Roger Smith.’ And … I woke up.”

She paused. “Does that make any sense?”

Dastun, who was wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, nodded.

He left a minute later, but paused with his hand on the front door. He turned. “By the way, Dorothy, does the name ‘Project Lazarus’ mean anything to you?”

Dorothy froze. “Yes. I heard my father speak of it.”

“What was it about?”

“I’m not sure. But it frightened him very badly. It was a Paradigm Corporation research project. It had something to do with activating damaged Megadeuses without the assistance of an android. They didn’t know about the android connection. Paradigm Corporation wanted his assistance, but he would not participate.”

“What was so scary about it? Was it just that it would increase the Megadeus population?”

“Oh, no. Father had faith in Megadeuses. It was something else. I don’t know what.”

*  *  *

Roger and Angel got out of the car. They were in the industrial district on the northern outskirts of the city. Buildings were only one or two stories high and a lot of trucks and heavy equipment were in evidence.

The one-story concrete building in front of them had a sign that announced:

 

**AMMO WORLD**

**Gun Shop * Pistol Range * Accessories**

 

The plate-glass windows gleamed behind stout steel bars. A variety of guns, ammo, and shooting gear were on display.

“Dastun told me about this place,” said Roger. “A lot of cops like it better than the police ranges, and it’s supposed to have a lot of interesting stuff you can rent and try out on the range.” He was carrying a briefcase.

Angel was carrying a purse which had clanked when she had set it down on the car seat. She was wearing one of her miniskirt outfits for the first time in quite a while. She was smiling. “I think this is a great idea, Roger. I haven’t been to a range in ages. Back when I was in training, I used to shoot 250 rounds a day.”

“I’m out of practice, too.”

They walked through the front door. There were four employees and about a dozen customers, all men. Conversation stopped and all eyes slid over Roger Smith and came to rest on Angel. All four employees converged on Angel, two of them abandoning customers to do so.

Angel glowed under all the attention. In no time at all she and Roger had been assigned target lanes in the range, down in the basement, and had their ammunition purchases rung up. Roger, though not a center of attention, was given a number of envious glances.

They were about to head down the stairs when Angel saw a display of targets which, instead of showing the traditional bull’s eyes or silhouettes, showed a full-size, full-length photo of Alex Rosewater, wearing an expression of insufferable smugness.

“Look at these!” she almost squealed. “Let’s get half a dozen!”

With their new prizes, they went down to the range, followed by most of the men in the store.

At the door to the range, Angel pulled a pair of shooting glasses and a pair of earplugs out of her purse. She opened the door and stepped inside. Roger followed, donning his own protective gear.

Angel was still smiling as she pinned the target to the overhead frame and pushed the button to send it whizzing down the ceiling track to a range of fifteen yards. She opened her purse and pulled out a neat nickel-plated, pearl-handled automatic that Roger had never seen before and slapped in a clip.

Beaming to her onlookers, she asked, “Where should we shoot him, boys?”

There was a chorus of suggestions. Angel chose to act on one that had no one had dared voice, and fired eleven rounds very quickly into an area that would guarantee the end of the Rosewaters as a lineage. A chorus of moans and cheers rose from the crowd.

One of the onlookers nudged Roger and said, “You’re a brave man.”

Angel ejected the clip and inserted another. Now she allowed the crowd to call each shot, deftly shooting Alex’s image anywhere they named. She never missed. If someone called for her to shoot the second button off Alex’s coat, that’s what she hit.

With the third clip, she sent out a new target and repeated her performance left-handed. Her left-handed shooting was not up to the standard of her right, but it was adequately deadly.

Some joker called for her to shoot backwards using a mirror, and, laughing, she obliged, using the compact from her purse. She had clearly done this before, since she managed to put every shot onto the paper, though a few missed Alex’s outline.

After this she thanked her onlookers and turned to Roger. “That was fun! But let’s get down to some serious shooting.”

Roger smiled and opened his briefcase. Inside was a variety of pistols. He pulled out a slightly battered and worn-looking service automatic. A large, heavy pistol with ferocious recoil, it looked very crude. In fact, it was supremely accurate in the hands of an expert, and was about as powerful as an ordinary handgun could be. It also wasn’t really service issue, but was custom built. It was a mate to the one carried by Dan Dastun.

Roger, disdaining photo targets and even silhouettes, sent a bulls-eye target out to 25 yards—the maximum provided by the range—and fired off a full clip of seven rounds in a couple of seconds. Roger pressed the button on the wall and the target returned. Four rounds were in the bulls-eye, two were in the surrounding rings, and one was barely on the paper.

“I must be getting senile,” he said.

He tried three clips of slow, careful fire, sending the target to fifteen yards, close enough to see the bullet holes as they appeared. Then he tried another fast clip at 25 yards. Much better. He stepped back to watch Angel.

It was a pleasure to watch Angel shoot. She was a deft, accurate, scientific, and supremely well-trained shot. Besides, there was something about women with guns ...

She finished off a target and beamed at him. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m really glad I’m not Alex Rosewater.”

“You’ve got that right. Okay, let’s see you shoot.” She stepped back and watched him fire.

Eventually he ran out of ammunition. He watched her shoot for a while, until she ran out, too. He suggested, “We could buy some more and try the pop-up targets in the next room.”

“I’m starving. Why does shooting always make people so hungry? Let’s go find some lunch. We’ll do the pop-ups next time. And we hardly looked at all the guns they rent here.”

They packed up and prepared to leave. One of the employees pointed to the wall. There, above a display of gun magazines, they had pinned up her first Alex target. Alex was not the man he had been. At their request, Angel stood on a chair and signed it ‘Patricia “Angel” Lovejoy’ with a flourish, using a fat marker. Then, waving to the customers and staff as they called good-bye, they left. Both of them were smiling as they went through the door.

Angel said, “You sure know how to show a girl a good time, Roger Smith. But can you show her a good lunch?”

“Dan says there’s a good bar and grill around the corner.”

She stopped for a moment to put her shooting glasses into her purse. “Too bad I smell like powder smoke now.”

He leaned close and sniffed. “Mmmmmm.”

She pushed him away, laughing. “Don’t tell me you like that smell! You’re weird.”

“Didn’t you know? Smells like that will have cops following you around like puppies. Even ex-cops like me.”

“No way!” she said, still laughing.

In the grill, they both ordered meals that involved large slabs of meat. While they waited for their food, they continued talking shop.

Angel asked, “So why don’t you carry a gun these days?”

“I need to be clear in my mind. Am I at a negotiation, or am I at a shootout? I can’t do my job if I’m in doubt. It’s easiest just to leave the gun at home.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “It was different in the spy business. And what about Big O?”

“Well, that’s what I mean. Usually, if I’m with Big O, I’m at a shootout. But sometimes I need to think like a negotiator, too. This isn’t so bad when the situation is clear-cut, but I have to be able to decide how to play things right away. Any hesitation could be fatal.”

Their food arrived, and conversation ceased for a time.

When they’d finished, Roger reached into his pocket and pulled out a little case. “I’ve got something for you.” He flipped it to Angel.

“My god, Roger, that’s the tackiest watch I’ve ever seen!” she said.

“And they say men can’t accessorize,” said Roger smugly.

Angel kicked him under the table, but her aim was poor and she barely grazed his leg. But it was enough. Roger’s smile lost its smugness and he continued more seriously, “I’ve got two more on order, one business and one formal. They’re similar to this one,” he said, indicating his own watch. “Hold it to your mouth and say ‘Norman’ or ‘Dorothy’ or ‘Roger,’ and you’ll be connected automatically. Or press the crystal hard, so it flashes, and we’ll all be switched in.”

There was a beep.

“I didn’t do anything,” said Angel.

Roger raised a hand. “What is it, Norman?”

“Master Roger, the police have just reported that a Megadeus is approaching the outskirts of the city from the north,” said Norman.

“Well, it sounds like we’re well-positioned for once. Big O, it’s showtime!”

Roger tossed his car keys to Angel. “See you later, Angel. Duty calls.” Angel was one of perhaps three or four people he could trust to drive his custom black sedan. He hoped she wouldn't investigate its special features too closely, though. That could be hard on any bystanders. The watch guided him to the point where Big O would emerge, three blocks from the grill. A vacant lot. “Hey, no property damage this time,” said Roger. “That’s a switch.”

Big O burst through the ground, picking up Roger Smith on the way up. Roger stepped from Big O’s palm into the open hatchway at the front of the cockpit. Dorothy was there, standing behind the seat, the eight probe cables radiating from her skull. Their eyes met briefly, then Roger sat in the command seat. He crossed his forearms as the screen in front of him displayed

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD…  
YE NOT GUILTY

The hand controls appeared. As he grasped them he called, “Big O! Action!”

A dust plume was visible about a mile to the north.

Dorothy spoke in a perfectly calm voice. “The military police are rushing tanks to support Big O. They will be here in ten minutes. The Megadeus appears to be fully functional, but I can’t tell for sure at this range. It is not one we have seen before. It is heading towards the city. It has done only incidental damage so far.”

“What’s between us and the Megadeus?” asked Roger.

“You will want to avoid the oil refinery on our left. There is a chemical plant on our right that should also be avoided. The direct line of the Megadeus’ march is relatively free of hazards. Move five blocks east.”

Big O strode to the east, then turned to face the approaching Megadeus.

“See if you can raise it.”

“Do you want video?” she asked.

“If I can get it.”

Dorothy moved to one side to get out of the shot. “On screen,” she said.

Below a blinking red light, one of the forward screens showed the inside of the other Megadeus’ cockpit. There was a young man in the control chair, slumped half sideways, sweat pouring down his face. Eight probe cables had been stabbed into his back.

The man spoke. “See me, Roger Smith,” he said hoarsely. “I am a true Dominus. You must let me pass. My task is urgent.”

The two Megadeuses were closing rapidly and were now only a few hundred yards away. In spite of the man’s appalling condition, Roger kept his face impassive. “Not until you state your business, pal.”

The man closed his eyes and seemed to summon up strength. Suddenly, he snarled and flipped open a panel beside him, then jabbed a button with his forefinger.

“Hang up, Dorothy,” said Roger, “We’ve got work to do.” The red light above the screen went out, but the image remained.

“Transmission ended,” said Dorothy. “He has changed the view on his screen, but has forgotten to turn off the camera.”

“Well, that’s handy,” said Roger, smiling.

Two missile launchers swiveled up from the other Megadeuses’ chest.

“Counter-measures!” called Roger. There was a bang and suddenly they were surrounded by a cloud of smoke and tiny foil rectangles.

“Enemy missiles launched,” said Dorothy.

Big O raised his arms protectively, but the missiles, their radars confused by the cloud of reflective foil, missed.

“Lock missiles,” said Roger.

Big O strode out of the settling cloud of smoke and foil. The two Megadeuses were now only a block apart. The other Megadeus lowered its missile launchers. Its right hand withdrew and was replaced by a cylinder about six feet long and four in diameter.

“Shaped charge,” said Dorothy. “Range, zero. Potential damage, total.”

The other Megadeus raised its arm to punch Big O with the shaped charge. Roger fired Big O’s eye lasers at the moving target. The beams skittered up and down the arm, causing only superficial damage. He could not hold it on the charge for more than an instant. He’d have to do a lot better than that to explode it prematurely.

Now they were too close to fire. Big O grabbed the other Megadeus’ forearm with his left hand, raising the arm so the shaped charge could not be slammed against his body. This caused it to wave in the air perilously close to Big O’s head. With his right, Big O punched the other Megadeus repeatedly in the throat, where the cockpit was.

On the screen, the pilot of the other Megadeus was thrown about in his seat like a rag doll. He seemed to have no strength. His face was contorted with agony. But he fought on. His Megadeus punched Big O in the face with its left, then transformed its right forearm, breaking Big O’s grip. It took a step back.

Roger, not wanting to face the shaped charge again, eased Big O back as well.

The transformed forearm now bristled with gun barrels.

“Autocannon,” reported Dorothy. “Threat: moderate. Missiles locked.”

“Big O! Fire!”

All of Big O’s missiles fired at the other Megadeus. They hit it in the chest and exploded. A cloud of dust and smoke obscured the result. One of the other Megadeus’ missile launchers pinwheeled out of the smoke, landing a hundred yards away.

Still visible on the screen, the pilot of the other Megadeus lolled in his seat, almost unconscious. Yet he was still trying. He stabbed a button and the smoke intensified.

“Its core memory is damaged,” reported Dorothy. “Enemy withdrawing. Enemy engaging counter-measures,” said Dorothy.

The video screen showing the interior of the other Megadeus flickered and then showed nothing but snow.

“Well, let’s pursue.”

“The Dominus is dying,” said Dorothy.

“We didn’t hit him that hard!”

“He has been dying for hours.”

They plunged through the smokescreen and found that the other Megadeus had turned around after only three blocks. The damage to its chest was less than Roger had hoped. It had ejected the shaped charge off to one side, where there was now a deep crater between a machine shop and a plumbing supply store. Both building had partly collapsed into the crater. The Megadeus was transforming. Its right arm was pointing straight towards Big O, an enormous muzzle gaping where its hand and shaped charge had been. Its left shoulder was creeping across its back, until the two arms made a single long tube like a bazooka.

When the transformation was nearly complete, Dorothy suddenly said, “Fusion beam.”

“What?” shouted Roger, horrified. “We can’t stand up to…”

“Raise force screen,” prompted Dorothy.

“Raise force screen!” repeated Roger.

A compartment opened in Big O’s chest and he withdrew a silvery sphere, eight feet in diameter, in his right hand. There was something odd about it that made it hard to look at, as if in some fundamental sense it wasn’t really there at all. As Big O raised it above his head, darkness enveloped them. There was a low, throbbing hum, almost below the range of hearing. From the outside, the force screen was a hemisphere of pure, flat black, without a hint of reflection.

“No sensors will function while the screen is up,” said Dorothy. “It is impervious to everything but gravity.”

A dull red glow appeared on the force screen in front of Big O. Roger realized this was where the fusion beam was striking the force screen. Soon it became a bright cherry red. The rest of the screen took a dull red hue. Where the force screen touched the ground, the ground began to smoke, then to glow.

Roger asked, “Dorothy, since when do we have a force screen?”

“Since yesterday. Norman just finished installing it.”

Roger smiled. “Remind me to give him a raise.”

The central dot grew. The red glow turned to orange, then to yellow. It was becoming brighter and brighter. The hum grew louder and rose steadily in pitch. Soon it was an almost unbearable scream.

“When the entire screen glows white, it will collapse!” shouted Dorothy over the din. “And then we will have very little time to act!”

The central dot was too bright to look at directly, but from the corner of his eye Roger could see that is was no longer holding steady. It wavered more and more. Suddenly, after a couple of brief flickers, it went out.

The screen was a brilliant yellow. The screaming sound began to fade.

“Lower force screen,” said Roger.

Suddenly, the screen was gone. They were back in the daylight, surrounded by a perfectly circular moat of lava where the screen had touched the ground. Three buildings intersected the moat; what was left of them was on fire. The sphere in Big O’s hand was silver no longer; it was black, pitted, and cracked. He tossed it aside, where it shattered into black gravel. In front of them was the other Megadeus, its arms and shoulder glowing white-hot from its own weapon. The armor on the right side of its head had molten and run like wax.

“Big O! Let’s finish him!” shouted Roger. Big O stepped across the lava moat and strode forward.

The other Megadeus turned to flee. Roger fired the hip anchors and ensnared the left arm, the one at the back of the fusion weapon. Big O grabbed the chains in both hands and gave a tremendous pull. The other Megadeus’ arm, already damaged, was wrenched out of its body. Big O, not expecting this, stumbled back two paces, then fell heavily.

By the time Big O was back on its feet, the other Megadeus had reached the river. An explosion of steam greeted it when it plunged in. For the first hundred yards, its path underwater was marked by eruptions of bubbles and steam, but soon they trailed off and were gone.

Roger stopped Big O at the shore and looked out across the river. There was now absolutely nothing to see. “What was that all about?”

Dorothy said nothing. Roger continued, “And why do they always attack the city?”

Dorothy spoke in a slow robotic monotone. “Memories of Big Venus echo through time and drive them mad. They believe they must destroy the world and rebuild it in their own image. But the dying man attacked too soon. Next time, he will be DEAD. Next time, he will be READY. You must be ready, too, Dominus.”

Roger stared at her, aghast. “How do you know all this?”

“How do I know all what?” asked Dorothy in her normal voice.

Roger hesitated, then said, “Never mind.” He contemplated the river in silence, then turned Big O towards home.

*  *  *

Later that afternoon, Roger stepped into the kitchen. “Norman, have you seen Dorothy?”

“She stepped out a few minutes ago, Master Roger,” replied Norman. “She said she would be gone for about an hour.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No, but when I looked out the window I noticed that she stopped at the flower stall on the corner. The last time I saw her do that was on the anniversary of the death of the cat Pero.”

“Has it really been a whole year?”

“Yes, sir. And today is the anniversary of the arrival of the three Megadeuses from the sea.”

“R. D.,” breathed Roger.

“Yes, sir.”

“But they never met. And R. D. was insane.”

“Yes, sir. But in a sense, Miss Dorothy and R. D. were sisters.”

*  *  *

The subway tunnel echoed faintly to Dorothy’s footsteps. Clutching her bunch of flowers, she reached the point where Big O had emerged and killed R. D. She remembered that the only remains of R. D. that had not been buried beneath the rubble had been a part of her skull, including the broken disk and some of her permanent memories. She and Roger had abandoned it and had never returned.

It was not there now.

She walked the short distance to where R. D.’s coffin had been propped up against the wall, its lid removed. There it was. But not against the wall. The coffin lay on the floor, its lid in place. Someone had dusted it off; the sides and lid gleamed.

Upon the lid lay a bunch of flowers.

Dorothy placed her own flowers beside the others and took a step back. She stood there, gazing at the coffin, for a very long time.

**[No Side]**


	3. Act 29: The Master Criminal

**Act 29: The Master Criminal**

Around noon, Angel stamped into the penthouse, seething with frustration. Dorothy switched off the vacuum cleaner, silently mixed her a drink, and handed it to her.

“I’m so angry I could scream!” said Angel as she kicked off her high heels. She was wearing one of what Roger had taken to calling her “bimbo uniforms” after she had made a comment about his “mortician suits.”

Angel paced back and forth, setting her drink down untasted and groping in her purse for cigarettes. “It’s all so aggravating! Do you mind if I smoke?”

“I can hardly smell it, but Norman doesn’t like smoking in the penthouse.”

Angel restlessly stuffed the pack of cigarettes back into her purse. Then she looked Dorothy over. Dorothy looked back, standing perfectly calm, perfectly poised. Angel sighed, “You aren’t going to ask, are you?”

“No.”

Angel laughed humorlessly “All right, since you twisted my arm, I’ll tell you. Beck is back in town. Boy, is he back. You know those two bank robberies that were pulled off last week? Both of them were Beck! And they took place less than ten hours apart! He did a really fancy safecracking job during the night, bypassing all sorts of security and opening the main vault without a peep from the alarm system. Then the next morning he walks into another bank as cool as a cucumber and pulls off a really lucrative `everybody-on-the-floor’ kind of heist all by himself!”

“But why are you so angry?” asked Dorothy.

“It gets worse,” said Angel. “The worst thing is, he’s joined the Union! Or,” she corrected herself, “he pretends he has. He’s their new robotics genius. He _must_ be planning on selling them down the river, he doesn’t believe in any of their stuff, but in the meantime they’re treating him like a king. He’s impressed them.”

Dorothy said, “They must not get out much.”

“No, they don’t. This is driving me crazy! It’s not just that he’s with the Union, but he’s given them hope. I had one of their top guys all primed and ready to start talking to Dan Dastun about working out a cease-fire, but now that Beck is there with his fancy talk and his technical skills, he’s backed out! They want to give Wonder Boy a chance to do his stuff.”

Dorothy said, “I don’t see how Beck could impress them so much.”

“Oh, if you can ignore the hair and the clothes and that idiotic cackle of his, Beck’s pretty impressive. He used to be the number-one techno-crook in Paradigm. He was indispensable on any kind of high-tech job. Very well-respected in the business. When I first met him, he openly said that he was going to become _the_ master criminal in Paradigm, and a lot of people thought he’d pull it off. I know I did. Even though he’s way too excitable in a crisis.”

“You know Beck?”

“I know all of Paradigm’s major criminals. It was part of my job. Actually, I never got much information from the major figures—they know how to keep their mouths shut. But once they’ve seen me sitting on the lap of the big boss, the minor crooks aren’t careful about what they say around me.”

She looked at Dorothy narrowly, waiting for a negative reaction. There was none.

“Go on,” said Dorothy.

“Beck was the guy you had to call to get around a perfect security system, or if you wanted to open an impossibly difficult safe, or anything to do with electronics. He was really, really good. He was a craftsman. Everyone treated him with respect, even deference. But then he went off on this giant-robot kick, and it all went wrong.” Angel laughed. “Giant robots are not appropriate burglar’s tools. Beck just couldn’t understand this. Committing a crime with a giant robot is a lot like using a parade float as a getaway vehicle. It’s big and it’s flashy, but it’s easy to track and simply isn’t right for the job. Now, as a terror weapon, yes: giant robots are perfect. But professionals work quietly, and Beck likes jobs to be neat.”

She paused, then said, “But the worst thing is, he doesn’t seem to care about giant robots any more. He’s focused on being a master criminal again. They say he’s calmer. He doesn’t have those idiot henchmen with him, either. He’s using the Union’s steadiest operatives for muscle instead. Hell, he’s not even wearing yellow suits all the time anymore. Nobody recognized him at the bank jobs; I had to dig that out for myself.”

She sighed. “But the _worst_ thing …”

“That makes three worst things,” said Dorothy.

“Thank you so _very_ much for that observation. The worst thing is,” and Angel looked around and then lowered her voice, “I think he’s sexy.”

“Beck?”

“Yes.”

“With that hair?”

“Well, in spite of it.”

“Those clothes? That laugh?”

“Yes,” said Angel mournfully.

Dorothy was silent for a moment, then asked, “Does he know?”

Angel blushed but said nothing.

Dorothy thought about this for a moment, then said, “Let’s not tell Roger. I don’t think he’d take it well.”

_“I’m_ not taking it well. I thought I was over him. Hell, I _was_ over him. But it’s all coming back. I’m losing my perspective. God knows what’ll happen if I run into the man.” She sighed. “It’s not like I get along with him very well or anything.” She sighed again. “I hate these crushes.”

After a moment, Dorothy asked, “Is this instead of, or in addition to, your crush on Roger?”

*  *  *

Roger arrived at the rendezvous at precisely 5 PM, the appointed time. It was an abandoned brick warehouse with gaping holes where sheet-metal roofing had blown away.

The other party was already there, as Roger expected. At least, a car was there, a nondescript sedan, not new, somewhat dirty, and with dirt obscuring the license plate. The only thing the least bit odd about it was its heavily tinted glass.

Roger parked about fifty yards from the other car and got out.

After a moment, the driver’s door of the other car opened, and a man stepped out.

“Beck!” said Roger, instantly angry. “What are you doing here?”

Beck flicked an imaginary bit of fluff from his sleeve. He was wearing one of his yellow suits. “Why, hello, Roger,” he said. He was also wearing that annoying smile of his. “Good to see you.”

Roger bunched his fists, “If this is some kind of setup …”

“No, no, nothing like that,” said Beck calmly. “On the contrary. This is a perfectly straightforward, by-the-book, no tricks, calm, orderly ransom deal.”

Roger growled, “If you think I’m going to trust you…”

“Roger, Roger, Roger. Get a hold of yourself. I know we’ve had our differences, but we’re both professionals. We have jobs to do. Let’s do them with style, shall we?”

Roger looked angry and stubborn.

“Or,” continued Beck, smiling even more broadly, “if you don’t think you’re up to it, just say the word. We’ll go our separate ways and say no more about it. No doubt you can explain things to your client.”

“Okay, okay!” Roger snarled. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Spoken like a gentleman. Well then, since money talks, why don’t you do the honors.”

Roger sighed. “Alright, then. I’ll show you the money, then you show me Mrs. Riviera.”

“Fine.”

Roger pulled a briefcase out of the car and opened it. Beck peered at the money through his binoculars. He nodded, then turned back to his own car.

A moment later Beck was helping an slim elderly woman get out of the back seat. Roger could just make out his voice and was surprised to hear Beck speaking to his hostage in a soothing, reassuring tone. She was not blindfolded, but her hands were tied with what looked like a black silk scarf. Beck led Mrs. Riviera a few paces from the car and stood aside while Roger peered at her through his own binoculars.

“Okay, Beck, let’s meet in the middle, not too close together, for a closer inspection.”

Beck nodded, pulled an empty suitcase from the trunk, and guided the old lady gently by the elbow to a point halfway between the cars. He said something softly to her, then skidded the suitcase in Roger’s direction and said, “Now, Roger, as you’ll recall, you were a very naughty boy last time. You used one of your magic flying briefcases for the ransom money. So do me a favor and put the money into my suitcase, okay?”

“You cheated, too. You palmed off the wrong goods.”

Beck wagged a finger in disapproval. “That’s no way to talk about Dorothy! But you’re right,” Beck placed his hand over his heart in mock regret. “I couldn’t resist a boyish prank.” His smile broadened. “But I’ve turned over a new leaf, Roger old pal, and that sort of wild behavior is a thing of the past. Over and done with. And I’m sure it’s just the same with you. We grow older, but we grow wiser. Am I right?”

Roger finished dumping the money into the suitcase and set it down, unlatched, on the floor. Then he said, “Okay, Beck, let me see Mrs. Riviera. You can examine the money.”

“Right you are.” Beck turned to Mrs. Riviera and spoke quietly. “Hold out your hands, ma’am, and I’ll untie your wrists. This last stage is just a formality. You’ll soon be on your way.” Then, more loudly, he added, “And don’t be put off by that burial suit he wears or that horrible old hearse he drives. He’s a little simple, is our Roger Smith, but he’s honest.” With an insufferable smirk, he sauntered over to the money.

Roger stood back to let him pass, then approached Mrs. Rivera. He compared her closely to a photograph he had been given, and asked her a few questions.

Meanwhile, Beck was using some kind of electronic instrument to examine and possibly to count the money. In a very short time he announced, “All present and correct, Roger old buddy. I’m completely satisfied.”

Roger said, “I am, too.”

Beck continued, “And because you’ve been such a good boy, I’m going to give you an extra treat.” He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and produced a pale yellow envelope. “I’ll just set it on the floor for you.” He did so. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. I’ll recommend you to all my kidnaper friends. See you around.” And with that, he sauntered back to his car, suitcase in hand, and drove off.

Roger led Mrs. Riviera to the car. She was trembling and her eyes were filled with tears. He lent her his handkerchief and wrapped his coat around her, then helped her into the car. He turned the heat up and walked back for the envelope.

It was business-sized, light yellow, and felt as if it contained four or five sheets of paper. On the front it was addressed simply, “Dorothy Wayneright.”

*  *  *

It was half past eight by the time Roger got home. After handing Mrs. Riviera off to her husband and picking up his fee, he went to tell Dastun what he’d learned. Dastun was in a meeting, as he always was these days, and Roger found himself cooling his heels for some time until he was available. Telling Dastun his story only took a few minutes, but they spent a great deal of time afterwards cursing Beck. Dastun made a few phone calls, placing extra guards on the prison holding Beck’s henchmen and a few other points he guessed were of interest, and also to alert his detectives. Maybe they could get some leads from informers.

Then, when he was on the point of leaving for home, Norman called and relayed a telephone message from a new client, involving some kind of elaborate dispute over a partnership that was breaking up. The two partners had been great friends, and had built their factories and estates all mixed together on the same land. Now that both were dead, the two families weren’t on speaking terms. Roger sighed. A domestic squabble masquerading as a business dispute. Those were always the worst.

But he visited the client’s lawyer before heading home, where he was given a stack of paperwork to read. He made an appointment to meet the client the next day.

As he parked the car in his underground garage, he said, “Home, sweet home.” He looked forward to a quiet evening. Norman and Dorothy were always soothing, and even Angel had been a pleasure to be around recently, now that she was working again. But her car—a new convertible in what Roger felt was a particularly loathsome shade of pink—was not in the garage. Angel was out.

He took the elevator up to the penthouse. Norman greeted him. “Master Roger, welcome home. Dinner will be ready in half an hour. Miss Dorothy and Miss Angel will not be joining you. They have gone out.”

“What, together?”

“Yes, sir,” said Norman.

“I wonder what they’re up to.”

“I couldn’t say, sir. But they said not to expect them back until quite late.”

*  *  *

Angel knocked on the door to Dorothy’s room as the clock struck eight.

“Come in.”

Angel was dubious about taking Dorothy along tonight, but Dorothy had insisted. Angel’s normal methods of settling differences involved loud arguments, but she found it impossible to argue with Dorothy, who simply didn’t talk enough to hold up her end of the dispute. Somehow, this meant that Dorothy always won. Angel couldn’t understand it.

Angel’s goal was to visit a few bars where underworld figures hung out, and get them to tell her things they shouldn’t. This was not a difficult feat, since men liked trying to impress Angel, and after a few drinks it was easy to nudge them in the direction of telling her their impressive secrets. But having Dorothy along was sure to ruin everything.

She opened the door and walked in. She had never seen Dorothy’s room before, and had meant to give it as close an inspection as she could get away with. But her attention was instantly riveted on Dorothy herself. Her jaw dropped.

Dorothy said, “Do you like it?”

Never in her wildest dreams had Angel pictured Dorothy in a miniskirt.

The effect was, well, “cute” was the first word to come to mind, followed by “adorable,” “vulnerable,” “young,” “sweet,” “shy,” and—very definitely—”sexy.” Why an outfit that fell firmly into the category of (to use Roger’s phrase) “bimbo uniform” should make Dorothy look sweet and shy wasn’t instantly clear. It was partly due to Dorothy’s petite frame, which, Angel suddenly realized, she was emphasizing by wearing shoes with almost no heels at all. Next to Angel, who in high heels was over six feet tall, Dorothy looked like a girl playing dress-up in her big sister’s clothes.

“It’s adorable,” Angel said. “I didn’t know you had any outfits like that.”

“I bought it this afternoon.”

“It’s very cute. I’m sure the men will be buzzing around you like flies.”

“Bees,” corrected Dorothy.

“Whatever. Are you going to act the part?”

“Not really.”

Angel was taken aback. “What?”

“It’s not necessary. I will be myself.”

“God help us,” said Angel. “You’re not even going to smile or anything?”

“I doubt it.”

Angel rolled her eyes. Well, at least Dorothy looked great. That would attract men to their table, and when they bounced off Dorothy’s wooden unresponsiveness, Angel could pick them up on the rebound. It could be worse. “Let’s get going.”

  
When they walked through the door to the Speakeasy, Dale, behind the bar, smiled at Angel, and some of the regulars greeted her.

Angel basked in the attention, as she always did, and introduced Dorothy around. Angel had warned her to use only her first name here. A lot of people did. The name “Wayneright” would ring too many bells in the wrong minds.

The Speakeasy attracted an upscale business crowd during the day and an upscale underworld crowd at night. For Angel’s purposes, it was perfect.

At one side of the room, Big Ear was pretending he hadn’t noticed them, even when Angel pointed him out to Dorothy. Dorothy detached herself from Angel and walked to his table.

He looked up, then glanced around. There was no one nearby. “Miss Wayneright,” he said quietly. “I’m pleased to meet you at last.”

“Thank you, Mr. …”

“Call me Mr. Brown if you don’t care for my nickname,” he said. “That’s my workaday alias. Please, be seated.”

Dorothy sat down. Big Ear continued. “Ah, I see you know. Did anyone tell you?”

Dorothy shook her head.

“Please keep the information to yourself. We androids have to stick together.”

“I will have to tell Roger.”

“I’m not asking you to act against your conscience, Miss Wayneright. But be discreet, please.”

“Roger speaks highly of you.”

“He’s a fine man.”

“Mr. Brown,” said Dorothy.

“Yes?”

“I would like to engage you to find some information for me.”

“Go on.”

“Where are the materials from my father’s lab?”

“They may be scattered. Is there something in particular that you want?”

“I want it all. Notes, plans, materials, tooling, subassemblies, completed work. Everything.”

“I will do my best.”

“Do you require advance payment?”

“Cash on delivery, miss. That’s how I work.”

Angel called Dorothy over to a table where she was sitting with a few men. She was talking, laughing, and joking. She introduced “my friend Dorothy” and went back to her conversation. Dorothy sat down at the opposite side of the table.

As time went by, it became clear that Dorothy’s presence had a very different effect from what Angel had predicted. True, some of her most reliable cronies were a little put off by Dorothy’s serious, near-silent presence, but others, mostly men who had never said more than a few words to Angel, were drawn to Dorothy. After a while, Angel saw a pattern emerge. Dorothy didn’t say much, but whenever anyone spoke to her she listened very attentively. Some men insisted on trying to make her laugh, and these soon retreated in confusion, but others, badly in need of someone to talk to, found her irresistible. Also, because she was small and quiet and serious, men who were too shy to put themselves in the path of Angel’s flirtation and sarcasm found Dorothy more in their league.

Dorothy also aroused protective instincts, especially in the older men. Twice, she was approached discreetly by middle-aged men who suggested that this bar was a little rough for a nice girl like her, and did she need cab fare home? One of these men was a crime boss whom Angel had thought entirely heartless.

One young man managed to monopolize Dorothy for a long time. He had come in with a group of men whom Angel vaguely recognized as being associated with some kind of semi-illicit manufacturing group—the sort of people who built illegal (or at least clandestine) hardware for anyone with the cash, no questions asked. The young man had barely made it through the door before being stopped in his tracks upon seeing Dorothy, and didn’t move until one of the men behind him gave him a shove.

Angel would have liked to watch what happened next, but the man talking to her finished his joke. She laughed on spec and dismissed Dorothy from her mind for the moment. She had work to do.

Dorothy noticed the young man staring at her. She met his gaze calmly and nodded.

He came over to the table, a little embarrassed, and said, “Hi. I’m Tony. I haven’t seen you here before.”

“My name is Dorothy. I’m pleased to meet you. Please, be seated.”

Tony sat down. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Thank you. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Tony looked alarmed as he tried to think of a drink that would be feminine enough for her, but wouldn’t make him look like a sissy.

“I didn’t mean to tease,” said Dorothy. “I’d like a glass of white wine.”

Tony, relieved, ordered a glass of white wine and a bottle of beer.

“So,” he said, “what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“You’re the eighth person to ask that question tonight,” she said.

“Sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

“That’s all right; neither am I. I’m here with my friend Angel.” Dorothy nodded to Angel. “Do you know Angel?”

“We’ve never been introduced. She used to be Beck’s girlfriend, didn’t she?”

“They know each other, certainly.”

“Is she working with him now?”

“I doubt it.”

Tony lost interest in Angel and turned back to Dorothy, who made a mental note to follow up on this line of inquiry.

“Can we move to a different table?” he asked Dorothy. “This one’s getting awfully crowded.”

They found a table for two towards the back of the bar. Their places at Angel’s table were filled immediately by newcomers. Angel was keeping them all in stitches.

Dorothy asked a couple of leading questions about Tony’s work. He was a master machinist. He loved his work—it was his calling—but was unhappy in his current job. The company specialized in “discreet” manufacturing projects. This hadn’t bothered Tony when he’d started working there a couple of years ago. Back then, the concept of “legitimate business” was in disrepute. The government and the Paradigm Corporation—which were practically the same thing—were basically criminal conspiracies. Under the circumstances, the choice of employer seemed unimportant. Besides, the pay was good.

But now he was filled with doubts. Dorothy barely had to prompt him, and it all came pouring out. One client after another had turned out to be a madman and mass murderer. Alex Rosewater had been the worst, of course, but Tony had also worked on projects for the Union, and even Schwarzwald. Tony put his life into his work, and people were using it to commit murders.

And he was lonely. He didn’t know how to meet nice girls, and the kind of girls who hung around the underworld thugs running the factory repelled him.

Dorothy kept him talking for quite a long time. This wasn’t hard, which was just as well, since Dorothy was a terrible conversationalist. She was every bit as bad as Angel thought she was, with one exception: she was aware of her deficiencies and kept a close eye on Tony’s reactions. When she said something wrong, she corrected herself, as she had when he’d offered to buy her a drink. With Tony, at least, this worked very well.

Tony abruptly stopped talking and said, “I must be boring you with all this. I’m sorry. Want to play a game of pool?”

“I may be the worst pool player in the city.”

“Is that a no?”

“It’s a yes. I just wanted to warn you.” They went over to an unclaimed pool table. Tony racked up the balls and offered to let her break.

“You start,” she said. “I’ve never played before.”

“It’s easy,” said Tony happily. “I’ll teach you.”

He started off. He was pretty good, sinking four balls before he missed. “There. Now it’s your turn. Hold the cue like this.” He demonstrated. “No, that’s not quite right.” He put his hand over hers to adjust her grip, then paused. Then he lifted her hand from the cue and examined it closely.

“Wow,” said Tony. “This is wonderful work. Show me the other one.” Dorothy obediently offered up her other hand. “Wiggle your fingers.” She did so. He peered closely into her face. Then he shook his head, smiling. “Someone must be very proud. Maybe someday I’ll be able to produce work like that.” He beamed with admiration. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re an android?”

*  *  *

It was well after midnight when they got back to the mansion. Angel got off on the eighth floor, saying she was done in, while Dorothy continued up the spiral staircase to the penthouse.

Tony had become even more interested in her when he’d discovered she was an android. This was not a reaction she had ever expected to see. It was a strange world. She had felt compelled to dampen his ardor by telling him that she had a steady boyfriend. He had asked hopefully if there were any more like her at home. No; more’s the pity. The records of her father’s that Dastun had lent her told her what she already suspected: that R. D. had not been the last R. Dorothy Wayneright. There should be several more, at least one of them fully assembled, ready for the incredibly elaborate bring-up sequence that would turn her into a living being. Dorothy was haunted by the fear of this other R. Dorothy Wayneright being cannibalized for parts or, worse, being clumsily brought to life and maliciously misprogrammed the way R. D. had been.

She wondered how many androids were passing for human in the city. She wasn’t even looking, but she came across them from time to time. Big Ear was only the most recent one. Maybe there was an android girl out there who was perfect for Tony. She hoped so. Such a girl would need to be gentler than Dorothy. He had wilted the two or three times she had thoughtlessly let fly with the kind of zinger she used on Roger.

Roger … She hadn’t seen him all day, and she was bearing good news. Tony had let slip that Beck was having something built at Boulton’s factory right now, and was making frequent inspections of the work in progress. Roger would be pleased to see Beck behind bars again, and it would be a load off her mind as well. Not that Beck ever seemed to stay in prison for long. She didn’t hate Beck the way Roger did, but he was dangerous and unreliable. Dastun ought to be able to scoop him up on a visit to the factory. A nice, quiet arrest. That would be a pleasant change.

Roger was still up, sitting on one of the couches, surrounded with papers from his briefcase. He looked up, thoroughly discontented, at her approach. Then his expression changed.

“Wow,” he said.

“Do you like my new outfit?” asked Dorothy as she walked towards him.

He didn’t answer. A moment later she was in his arms.

He never did answer the question about the outfit. Not in words.

*  *  *

The next day, Angel was having lunch while Roger breakfasted. Angel was dressed in one of her respectable pink business outfits, while Roger was still in his bathrobe and pajamas. His hair was mussed, which she found very sexy. She had taken to breakfasting with Norman in the kitchen and lunching with Roger in the dining room. Generally, Dorothy was present at both meals, but today she wasn’t in evidence; she was running an errand for Norman to some machine shop or other.

Angel had kidded Roger mercilessly about his use of an immense dining room table for only two or three people, and had threatened to bring a telescope and a megaphone to ease the strain of mealtime conversations. This teasing had apparently been more than Norman could bear, because the dining room table had been magically replaced by a much smaller one, suitable for four people. Angel had fallen into the habit of sitting on Roger’s left, since Dorothy always sat opposite him and Norman insisted that Dastun sit on Roger’s right when he visited, which he was doing several nights a week.

When Norman left to fetch more coffee, Angel asked, “Roger, I know Dorothy doesn’t sleep. What does she do all night?”

Roger raised a napkin to hide a smile. Angel kicked him under the table.

“Ow!”

“I meant,” she said with mock severity, “what does she do while you’re _sleeping?”_

He considered. “I’m not sure I know, not exactly. Different things. Sometimes she gazes out over the city, just like during the day. But she’s pretty active. I know she visits Instro after hours sometimes. But if you want details, you’ll have to ask her.”

“I will.”

“By the way, Angel, where did you two go last night?”

“We went to the Speakeasy. We were digging for information.”

Roger made a face, then said, “Find any?”

“I found lots. People were practically standing in line to tell me stuff. And I think Dorothy pried some information out of one guy, too. Or at least stood there and listened while he spilled his guts.”

“Hard to imagine.”

“That’s what I thought. But she’s a good listener when she wants to be, and for a lot of guys, that’s all it takes. And she’s cute, too, of course. Anyway, I don’t know what she found out, but I have a couple of leads on Beck.”

“Beck?”

“Did you know he was behind those two bank robberies?”

“No. Did you know he was behind the Riviera kidnapping?”

“Really? Does that mean you saw him yesterday?”

“Yeah. And he was at his absolutely most obnoxious. He didn’t cackle, though. That’s something.”

“How did it come off?”

“It went very smoothly. No tricks, no surprises. He claims he’s turned over a new leaf and has left his boyish pranks behind.”

Angel nodded. “I think he’s finally given up on giant robots and has gone back to his earlier ambition of being a master criminal. If he’s the one who pulled off the Riviera kidnapping, I can’t believe how much money he’s raked in, just over the last few days. I wonder what he needs it for?” She thought about this a moment, then continued. “That’s where I need to be digging. Something’s up, Roger. Something big. Beck usually takes it easy between jobs. This whirlwind of crime … he wants to do something hideously expensive.”

The elevator chimed. The door opened and Dorothy walked in. She was back to her normal clothes.

“That reminds me,” said Roger. “Dorothy, I have something for you.”

Dorothy approached the table. “What is it?”

“At the handoff yesterday I saw Beck, and he handed me this envelope. It’s addressed to you.”

Wordlessly, Dorothy took the envelope from Roger. She opened it and began to read. The others watched impatiently, but Dorothy, oblivious, read the yellow cover sheet and the four other pages all the way through without looking up.

Finally, she lowered the pages and saw Roger and Angel staring at her. “Beck is asking me to negotiate a deal for him.”

“What?” yelped Roger. “That jerk! He _never_ misses a chance to pull my chain! Who does he want you to negotiate with?”

“You and Angel.”

Angel laughed, then reached over and mussed Roger’s hair. “Poor Roger. Beck’s got your number. What does he want from us, Dorothy?”

Dorothy said, “In return for information vital to the safety of Paradigm City, he wants a truce with us. He won’t bother us; we won’t bother him. The Military Police can catch him if they can, but we won’t help them.”

Angel looked skeptical, but Roger was brought up short. “Is the so-called vital information part of the package you’re holding?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s have a look.” He held out his hand.

“No.” She drew the papers back.

“Dorothy!”

“My client insists that it not be shown to you until you agree to a temporary truce, to last until you verify the truth or falsehood of the information.”

“You don’t have to follow his orders!”

“I have chosen to. He is my client. This information is privileged.”

Roger growled, “I really, really don’t like having Beck come between us.”

“My role as a negotiator ends when you accept or reject his offer and I inform him of your decision. We are talking about a matter of minutes.”

Angel said, “Tough it out, Roger. You can do it.”

“Knock it off, Angel. What do you think about this, anyway?”

Angel shrugged. “It’s probably for real. He’s in tight with the Union people right now, so he’s probably found out about their next idiotic plan. He’ll want us to stop it because he doesn’t want the city smashed to bits; there wouldn’t be anything left for him to steal. He might be conning us, but Beck likes big cons. This one’s too little. We should take him up on it.”

Roger sighed, “So what do we tell Dan?”

Angel replied, “The truth. We have no official status in law enforcement; catching Beck is his job. He’ll rant and rave for a minute, then he’ll forget all about it and want to know about the alleged threat to the city.”

Dorothy said, “We can tell General Dastun. In fact, my client suggests that we ought to.”

Roger, still troubled, asked, “What do you think, Dorothy?”

She replied, “Speaking for myself, I am convinced that we should accept.”

Their eyes met. After a moment, Roger smiled, fully reassured. “Okay, Dorothy, we agree to your client’s terms. Can we see the pages now?”

Dorothy handed them over, all except the yellow cover sheet. Roger craned his neck and said sourly, “I can’t believe it. It says ‘Jason Beck, Master Criminal’ on the letterhead.”

Angel laughed, “He’s had stationery like that since he was a teenager.”

Roger turned to her, amazed. “How did you know that?”

“He told me.”

“You know Beck?”

“Why is everyone so surprised that I know Beck? Of course I know Beck. I know everyone a nice girl shouldn’t know. I was his girlfriend for three days once. I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“What happened?” asked Roger.

“Before, during, or after?”

“No, please, not at breakfast,” moaned Roger. “No details. All I meant was, have you been on speaking terms since?”

“Oh, yes, definitely,” said Angel. “After we broke up we realized we could only stand each other in small doses, but we’ve been pretty chummy since. The trick is to leave _before_ you feel compelled to hit him on the head with a length of pipe. That’s where I messed up the first time.”

Dorothy asked, “You hit him with a length of pipe?”

“Just a little one.”

Roger put his head in his hands, “Can we _please_ get back to business? I _really_ don’t want to hear about Beck’s love life, Angel.”

Angel said, “You ought to reconsider, Roger. I’m sure you could learn something…”

“Angel!”

“Oh, all right.”

Dorothy said, “Roger, why don’t you get dressed. I need to call my client and confirm our acceptance. I will also call General Dastun and let him know that his presence is required at dinner. We can meet back here in half an hour.”

*  *  *

After dinner, Norman cleared the table and passed around copies of Beck’s communiqué, which was a status report addressed to Alex Rosewater. Then, uncharacteristically, Angel got up and went to the kitchen to fetch coffee while Norman sat at the table. Norman was in charge of ensuring that Big O was prepared; he had a place at this meeting. Angel did not. But the coffee service allowed her to listen in as if she belonged there. If it worked for Norman, she reasoned, it would work for her.

Dastun read the report for the first time. The others reread their copies, except for Dorothy, who rose, drifted over to the stairs, and went up to the penthouse. Soon the delicate strains of a piano sonata provided an odd counterpoint to their council of war.

Dastun finished reading. “Is that all the information you’ve got? It looks pretty ugly. Geez, I thought nobody was stupid enough to try cyborgs again. How long’s it been since last time, Roger? Five, ten years? The damned things always go insane. Like that Alan Gabriel. _He_ was a piece of work. Nuttier than a fruitcake. They’re always like that. Well, not always the same way, but they’re always crazy as hell. What did Alex think he was doing?”

Roger said, “Beats me. Seems like Alex would fund anything if it would make a big enough bang. I mean, he funded that idiot Eugene and his chamber of horrors, and he funded Amadeus and Giesang with that sonic Megadeus, and probably a lot more we don’t know about. Yet. God knows how he planned to control the cyborgs.”

Dastun asked, “So how big are these things? I see the numbers, but I don’t know how they compare to Big O.”

“About half the height of Big O. No more than a quarter the weight, and probably a lot less. They’re probably too lightly built to be much of a threat. They might be fast, though.”

“And there’s one, maybe two of them?” asked Dastun.

“That’s how I read it.”

“So what do you plan to do?”

“Well, Dan, the way I see it, we ought to go in there with Big O and a whole lot of tanks and see if we can’t get ‘em to surrender. Maybe the cyborgs aren’t active right now; they must have a way of getting them to hibernate until they’re used. Can you imagine being in charge of a bunch of bored, heavily armored crazy guys fifty feet tall? Anyway, you’ll want to go in with warrants and firepower, and if the cyborgs don’t want to play ball, well, Big O will be there, too.”

“We ought to give Big O a badge,” said Dastun.

“And a dance card at the Policeman’s Ball,” added Roger.

“When do you figure we should strike?” asked Dastun, ignoring this.

“Tomorrow at dawn,” replied Roger.

Dastun sighed. “I knew you were going to say that. So I’m going to have to tell a bunch of exhausted guys on the graveyard shift that they can’t go home to their beds, but instead need to drag their tired asses off to overtime and possible death.”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, I think so, too. If we haul in the day shift early, there’ll be tons of radio chatter. But we can hold graveyard shift over without much fuss. Nab ‘em in the precinct houses as they come off shift and redirect them.”

When the meeting broke up, Roger, Dorothy, and Norman went off to inspect Big O, so Angel offered to see Dan out to his car. “You’ll never get the elevator to work by yourself,” she said. “There’s a trick to it.”

In the elevator, Dastun was nervous, turning his cap around and around in his hands.

Angel said, “Look, Dan, how can I flirt with you properly if you’re always nervous around me?”

Dastun waved an arm in a vague gesture and said nothing.

Angel continued, “Being cooped up in the house with those two lovebirds is driving me crazy. Be a sport and ask me out to dinner sometime, will you, Dan? We can have some innocent fun. Maybe we could break all the windows in Alex Rosewater’s summer home.”

Dastun smiled. “How’s Thursday?”

“Fine. Be here at eight to pick me up. Don’t be in uniform, because you’re taking me somewhere disreputable. You don’t want to be a disgrace to the Force.”

Dastun seemed reconciled to his fate. “As long as we don’t get arrested. It’s bad for morale when senior men get thrown in the slammer, and it’s embarrassing as hell for the arresting officer.”

The elevator stopped and the door opened. Angel kissed him on the cheek. “Bye, Dan. Don’t be a hero in the morning, okay?”

*  *  *

Beck dozed fitfully in the command chair. His Megadeus was currently in the river, underwater, about a quarter-mile upstream of the cyborg enclosure. Only the periscope/snorkel extended up above the surface. The video quality was lousy with just the passive light amplification, but there was nothing to see anyway.

A bell chimed. Beck woke, fully alert. “What have we got?”

He had taken to voicing his thoughts when inside the Megadeus. It seemed to help things along, and it kept him calmer.

He peered at the screen. Almost dawn. Then he made out a line of vehicles, running without lights down the main road. Tanks. A moment later he saw another group coming in the back way.

“Where’s Big O?” he asked.

A moment later Big O broke the surface of the river half a mile downstream and began to stride towards shore. As soon as he was on dry land, he stopped.

Another bleep brought Beck’s attention to one of the screens. Big O had been positively identified as a “friend.” Good. That meant Big O would feel the same about him.

The line of tanks entered the compound, the leading tank breaking down the locked gate to do so. They were all clearly marked with Military Police insignia, visible even in the lightening gloom. The tanks formed a line facing the main factory building and the small office building in front of it. Big O started forward.

Beck pounded the armrest with his fist. “Don’t get between the compound and that other warehouse, you idiot! It’s abandoned! There’s probably tunnels from the compound!” He leaned forward to see the screen better. Suddenly, he had a bad feeling about this.

He could just make out Dastun standing in front of a tank with a megaphone. He called into it for a while. No response. He shouted something else. No response. A handful of cops started for the door of the office building.

Behind Big O, four fifty-foot cyborgs came running out of the abandoned warehouse.

Beck shouted, “Big B! Action!”

He grabbed the hand controls and used the foot pedals to start Big B walking to shore. Big B bent double before he broke the surface. His back was the first part of him to emerge.

All four cyborgs had attacked Big O, one on each arm, one on each leg. Big O flailed his left arm, managed to grab a cyborg, and pitched it in a shallow arc through the air. The cyborg did an amazing roll and landed on its feet.”

“Give him the net!” called Beck, slapping the appropriate controls. A port opened on Big B’s back and the net whirled out. Beck guided it so it hit the cyborg Big O had thrown. The net wrapped around it, causing it to lose balance and fall over. Beck stabbed the “electrify” button, and lightning sizzled all over the net. The cyborg went into convulsions. After a few seconds, the electronet turned off, its batteries exhausted. The cyborg, apparently undamaged, began to rise.

“Oh, no you don’t!” shouted Beck. Big B strode over to the cyborg. Beck extended the plasma lance in Big B’s right hand. With the left, he picked up the cyborg by the head, raising it high into the air. One swift cut, and the body crashed headless to the ground.

This was great! Beck almost had Big B strike a pose. But … “No!” he said out loud. “That’s the old Beck.”

He looked around. Where were the other cyborgs?

Big O was on the ground, face down. Two of the cyborgs were attached to his right arm, apparently trying to twist it off. None of Big O’s weapons could be brought to bear.

Where was the other cyborg?

“Behind you!” came Dorothy’s voice out of thin air.

Big B spun around. There was the other cyborg. It wanted to close. Beck flipped a switch and raised Big B’s right knee. The new kneecap cover snapped aside as Beck drove the knee hard into the cyborg’s abdomen. “Fire!” he called, stabbing a red button.

The shaped charge went off and the cyborg’s entire torso exploded in fire and ruin.

What next? The two cyborgs were still on Big O, preventing him from rising. Beck still held the head of the first cyborg in Big B’s left hand. He lobbed it at one of the others, missing, and retracted Big B's left hand, exposing the forearm cannon.

Big O had rolled onto hands and knees. One cyborg came within reach of the eye lasers, which left a jagged path of molten metal across its body. The cyborg suddenly exploded. Now it was down to one. Big O fired both piledrivers, flinging himself to his feet in an instant. The remaining cyborg leapt aside, but Big O ensnared it with one of the hip chains and reeled it in. Grabbing it by an arm, Big O raised it above the ground with his right hand and hit it with his left. A single blow of the piledriver smashed it to flinders.

Beck looked around. A swarm of smaller armored cyborgs, barely larger than man-sized, was attacking the military police.

“Damn it to hell!” swore Beck. “These guys don’t know when to quit. Well, I hope you’ve got some anti-personnel weapons, Roger old pal, because your usual stock in trade isn’t going to help here.”

Big B strode forward until he was a hundred yards from the tanks, which were all buttoned up. The tanks couldn’t seem to bring their cannon to bear, and were relying on the light machine guns in the front corners. These seemed to have no effect on the cyborgs.

Beck opened another of the new control panels and flipped some switches. The toecaps of Big B’s feet slid aside. Beck adjusted the aim and slapped the buttons. Dozens of claymore mines fired, sending hardened steel ball bearings, half an inch across, whizzing through the air a few feet off the ground. Many of the cyborgs were shredded. Some of the tanks didn’t look so good, either, but their armor hadn’t been broached. Probably.

Big O was picking off the cyborgs one by one with the eye lasers. Beck watched in awe. “How does he do that?” he asked. “I don’t have anywhere near that kind of accuracy.”

A moment later, it was all over. The last cyborg had been destroyed.

After a surprisingly brief pause, Dastun had rearranged his vehicles and was sending officers out to search the premises. Big O and Big B stayed where they were; they were too big for even the largest building.

There was a chime. Roger wanted to talk.

“Refuse the call, Big B. I don’t have anything to say to him.” Big O’s cockpit appeared on the screen anyway. Beck glanced up at the camera at the front of his own cockpit, but it was off. He checked to make sure his microphone was off, too.

Dorothy was on the screen, too! “You idiot, Roger!” said Beck. “You need to keep her a secret!” Dorothy looked poised and serene with the eight probe cables coming out of her skull.

Roger spoke, “Thanks for the help, stranger. I hope to see you around sometime. If you ever need anything, just give me a call. I’m in the book.”

Beck cackled, then stopped. The new Beck was much too cool for that. “If only you knew, Roger old buddy, if only you knew. Hero by day, master criminal by night. Can it get any better than this?” He yawned. “Of course, it doesn’t leave much time for sleep.”

Then, just for a moment, he could have sworn that Dorothy’s eyes met his. He shivered. It was as if she had read his soul. “The camera’s off. It’s off! I know it’s off,” he muttered to himself. Then, “I’m not scared of her, anyway.” The video image vanished. Beck sagged with relief.

His task here was done. He turned Big B around and disappeared into the river.

*  *  *

Dastun arrived early for dinner the next evening. His head and left hand were bandaged.

Angel made a face when she saw him. “I told you not to be a hero, Dan.”

“Old habit,” he said. “Won’t happen again.”

“Liar.”

He accepted a drink from Norman and sank gratefully onto a couch. Dorothy and Roger came in. After greetings, Dastun said, “It’s not dinnertime, right? So I can talk business.”

Roger said, “If you must. Any word on that Megadeus who helped us out?”

“The Megadeus of Mystery?” said Dastun. “That’s what the press is calling it. No, nothing. We know it’s the same one that you fought before, the one with the net and everything. But you knew that already.”

“Yes,” said Roger. “And we knew he was under new management, too. No idea who the new Dominus is?”

“Not a clue. Anyway, as I was saying, those cyborgs were bad news. Most of them were _not_ volunteers, but had been shanghaied off the streets. They had some kind of mind control that made them follow orders. Creepy. I guess that’s why they didn’t care about whether they went crazy or not.”

“Did we get them all?”

“I don’t know. There were some survivors, non-armored cyborgs who surrendered. They were the bosses of the joint. We’re interrogating them. We don’t think there were any other giant ones, though.”

Angel asked, “So what was that all about?”

Dastun sighed. “Angel, there doesn’t have to be a reason. Something about this city causes some folks to go to elaborate lengths to smash it. Alex was like that. So were a lot of others. Me, I can’t understand it.”

Roger looked over at Dorothy, remembering the … prophecy? … she had made after a previous battle. She didn’t notice his gaze, but was watching Dastun.

“What’s next, I wonder,” murmured Angel.

“Another drink for Dan,” said Roger, “for medicinal purposes, and then dinner. Never philosophize on an empty stomach.”

“Speaking of philosophy, Roger,” said Dastun. “We’ve sent up some aircraft and some high-altitude balloons with video cameras. You know that superstructure over the city that we saw the day Alex died?”

Roger nodded.

“Well, it isn’t there. If you go high enough, you break through the clouds and there’s the sun, and blue sky all around. And stars at night. I haven’t seen it myself, but they say it’s just breathtaking.”

“That’s a relief,” said Roger. “For a while there, I was wondering if our whole world wasn’t just a few miles on a side.”

“No, it’s a lot bigger than that,” said Dastun, “we just don’t know much about it.”

“But we can find out,” said Roger. “That kind of problem, we can solve.”

“Not to wreck your moment of optimism, but there’s still an awful lot closer to home that we don’t understand jack about. We tested out some other anomalies. The fear that attacks people when they go underground? Still there. People suddenly going mad with memories that may or may not be their own? Still there. I don’t know if what we saw in the sky that day was real or not, but most other things are just the same as ever.”

“Thank goodness,” said Roger, and raised his glass to Angel.

She made a face. “Don’t go blaming it on me, even in a nice way, Roger Smith. Blame your own irresistible sweet talk if you have to blame anything.”

“All right, I will.” He raised his glass again. “To my own irresistible sweet talk.”

“Louse,” muttered Angel and Dorothy in unison.

*  *  *

While the household slept, Dorothy was in Big O’s hangar, working at a drafting table on a wide catwalk not far from the cockpit. The eight probe cables snaked from Big O’s hatchway and were plugged into her skull. Dorothy was creating an assembly drawing on a large sheet of vellum, depicting a complex subassembly of some unguessable machine. She drew with a technical pen, leaving glistening lines of jet-black, slow-drying India ink. Her strokes, though not fast, were sure. She never measured, never used a straightedge, and even drew her circles freehand. Though intended for a purely pragmatic use, the drawing was elegant. She had been studying composition, and her drawings were the kind that engineers were proud to pin to their walls. Occasionally, she would turn and gaze up at Big O’s face. After several seconds of silent communion, she would resume drawing. A small stack of finished sheets lay on a table beside her.

The phone rang, terribly loud in the hushed, cavernous hangar. Dorothy put her pen down carefully and stood. The cables removed themselves from her head and the ends hovered in the air. Without hurrying, Dorothy crossed to the nearest extension, a wall phone at the end of the catwalk, and picked it up.

“Hello?” she said.

“Is this R. Dorothy Wayneright?” came a woman’s calm voice from the telephone.

“Speaking.”

“I am also R. Dorothy Wayneright.”

There was a long moment of unmoving silence. Then, “Go on,” she said.

**[we have come to terms]**


	4. Act 30: Dori, Dorothy

**Act 30: Dori, Dorothy**

  
Roger knotted his tie, put on his suit coat, and drew on his black gloves. He checked his appearance in the mirror; he was ready for the new day. He walked out of his bedroom.

Dorothy was waiting for him in the penthouse.

“Hello, Dorothy,” he said. They embraced briefly. She was upset about something.

“Good morning, Roger. I have important news.”

“Tell me, then.”

Dorothy led him to a couch and sat down next to him.

“I have a sister. Another R. Dorothy Wayneright. She called me on the telephone last night.”

“I see,” said Roger. Dorothy had been leaving no stone unturned in her quest for the content’s of Timothy Wayneright’s lab, which she believed had contained at least one other R. Dorothy Wayneright, fully assembled and nearly ready to be awakened. “Is she okay?”

“She seemed fine,” said Dorothy. “I was relieved. Few people know how to awaken an android properly. Errors can cause terrible damage. But Dori seems to have been very fortunate.”

“Dori?”

“That’s what she’s calling herself.”

Roger asked, “So where is she? And who is her, what … father? Creator?”

“Lover,” said Dorothy.

“What? That’s disgusting!”

“Dori says ‘boyfriend,’" continued Dorothy, ignoring this, “But ‘lover’ is what she means.”

“But,” protested Roger, “she’s like a child, isn’t she?”

“Not in that way. Her body is the same as mine.”

“But,” said Roger again. He groped for a way of expressing his feeling that what Dorothy was describing was wrong.

Uncharacteristically, Dorothy didn’t wait for him to marshal his thoughts, but kept on going. “Roger, there are three basic reasons why someone awakens an android. To be a child, a lover, or a tool. I was awakened to be a child. R. D. was awakened to be a tool. Dori was awakened to be a lover. She may have been more fortunate than her sisters.”

“Why?” asked Roger.

“An adolescent android is very emotionally dependent on her awakener. Ideally, it should be someone who is supportive, someone who is kind. R. D. fell into the hands of a maniac. With me, Father was … Father was … I had to … I …” she stopped for a moment, then started again, speaking slowly. “It is very hard for me to … to … criticize … Father,” she said.

Roger nodded. “Try to say it indirectly, or hypothetically,” he suggested.

Dorothy closed her eyes, paused a moment, and then spoke. “Suppose there was a man named John Doe, whose daughter Jane had died. Mr. Doe could create androids. He wanted an android copy of his daughter. But he didn’t fully understand the core memory technology; he could only make duplicates of old patterns. Mr. Doe could add some memories, but memory and personality are not the same. He could not alter the personality of an android directly.” She looked at Roger.

Roger nodded.

“Androids will love, trust, and wish to please the person who awakens them. This always happens—it’s part of growing up. Mr. Doe could not alter Jane’s personality, but he could make it clear to Jane that he wanted her to act the role of his dead daughter. All the time. That was her purpose. Not to … to be … to be … herself.”

She looked up at Roger, who nodded encouragingly.

Dorothy went on, “And this was … it was … Jane … she felt … she …” Dorothy closed her eyes again. There was a long pause. Then, “I can’t say that part.”

Roger squeezed her hand. He loved her hands, even though they didn’t feel quite human. Or maybe because they didn’t. “I understand. Tell me, was Jane happy?”

“She was happy and … and … at the same time,” said Dorothy. “Outside his … his …, Mr. Doe was kind. He was a very interesting man. And he loved Jane. His … he … he had a kind of double vision. Craftsmen love their creations. It’s very human to want your creations to love you back. He loved android technology and would happily talk shop to Jane, while at the same time … at the same time … insisting …”

Roger said, “You had to pretend that you were his daughter helping out in the lab.”

“Jane! We are talking about Jane. I can’t discuss this at all if we talk about me.”

“Sorry.”

Dorothy remained silent for a long moment. “Enough about Jane. Dori’s boyfriend transferred her conditioning from Father to himself, so she would not be crippled with grief when she was awakened. That was my greatest fear. But the next step is also crucial. If Dori’s boyfriend wants Dori to be Dori, then she will emerge from the experience unscarred. Though if the two of them are very incompatible, she will eventually leave him.”

“She can do that?”

“Oh, yes. The early conditioning fades. But not right away. An adolescent android is very dependent. It will be months, at least, before she could be separated from him.”

Roger considered this. “So we’re stuck, aren’t we?”

“Not entirely. We can talk to her boyfriend. He could do a lot of damage by accident, especially if he follows …” she paused for a moment, then said, very slowly and distinctly, “certain materials that are likely to be found with Father’s papers.”

“Because your father wrote them himself.”

She didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

Roger asked, “So what do we know about Dori’s boyfriend?”

“Dori wouldn’t tell me anything about him.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“She called me when he was asleep. He doesn’t know.”

“That sounds ominous, too. I don’t suppose it could be your good friend Tony?”

“No, he would have asked for help. He would want to do this exactly right, to not take unnecessary risks. He knows the limits of his training.”

“Will Dori be calling you again?”

“Tonight, I think. Roger, you must find her! I need to talk to her, and to her boyfriend. The initial stages have gone very well, but she isn’t safe yet. Her mind is still at risk.”

Roger hugged her. “I’ll get right to work.”

*  *  *

Roger drove up to the nondescript seaside bungalow, one of a long row of identical, weather-beaten summer rental houses. Big Ear had given him the address, identifying it as a place where some of Wayneright’s materials might be stashed, though only briefly. Big Ear had been even more cryptic than usual, but Dorothy was anxious, so Roger was following up every lead. He expected to find a boxful of papers if he was lucky. But if he could find out where they came from, he might really be onto something.

He stepped out of the car. The weather was blustery, with a salt smell in the air. The sound of seagulls came faintly to his ears. No one was in the street.

He went up the front door and knocked. Almost immediately it was answered by a slim young blonde woman in jeans. She opened the door and looked at him gravely. Except for her hair color, she looked exactly like Dorothy.

A faint smile came to her lips. “Roger Smith,” she said.

“R. Dorothy Wayneright, I presume,” he said, smiling back.

“Call me Dori. Please, come in. I had no idea you’d find us so soon.”

“Thanks.”

The bungalow was nearly empty. A couple of suitcases stood near the door, and there was a cardboard box on the little dinette table. Dori had been packing.

“There’s still some coffee. Would you like some?”

“Please.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Black.”

She returned a moment later with two cups. He moved the box aside and they both sat down at the table, across from each other. He watched her add cream and sugar to hers. She noticed his gaze, and the gentle smile returned to her lips. She said, “I’ve decided that I prefer cream and sugar, but I’m prepared to rough it if necessary.”

Roger grinned. Dorothy was just the same, though she almost never volunteered this sort of information.

Dori took a sip of coffee, made a face—a fleeting expression; he almost missed it—and added another spoonful of sugar. Roger laughed, delighted.

Dori seemed entirely at ease with him. It was as if she’d known him forever and trusted him completely. She asked, “How did you find us? We were being so careful.”

“I have my methods.”

“And I’ll be here alone for almost an hour,” she continued. “That’s wonderful timing. How is Dorothy?”

“She’s worried about you.”

Dori nodded, serious. “There were so many things I couldn’t tell her.”

Roger waited, with a look of polite inquiry on his face.

After a moment she added, “I can’t tell you, either.”

“Sorry. What would _you_ like to talk about?”

“I have an enormous number of questions. Do you mind?”

“Fire away.”

The little smile returned. It gave him a little jolt every time he saw it, because Dorothy almost never smiled, even when she was deeply happy.

“Did you ever meet my father?”

“Timothy Wayneright? Just once, the night he died. We were never properly introduced or anything like that. He wasn’t even an acquaintance, I’m afraid.”

“And you saw Dorothy with him that night?”

“Yes.”

“What was she like?”

Roger considered. “I almost thought she was a different person. She laughed and smiled and had any number of, I don’t know, girlish mannerisms.”

As he spoke, her smile had flickered out again. “I thought so,” she said. She seemed troubled.

“What do you mean?”

“Would it be okay if I visited you sometime?”

“Dori, we’d like nothing better. Visit us anytime; stay as long as you like. Forever, if that suits you. You’re family.”

Though her expression didn’t change in any obvious way, Roger sensed he’d made her very happy, though all she said was, “Thank you.”

She thought for a moment—she was just like Dorothy in this; she could stop and think without becoming self-conscious, and silences didn’t bother her—and asked, “Roger, what does Dorothy do all night?”

“You mean, when I’m asleep? I keep very late hours and am up most of the night.”

“Yes.”

“Well, she does what she likes. She’s careful not to wake me, so she doesn’t play the piano near my bedroom or anything like that, but otherwise, it’s up to her. She visits friends sometimes, or works around the house, or reads. She spends a lot of time on the rooftop, gazing out over the city and thinking.”

“She’s not afraid of being mugged when she goes out at night?”

“Well, mostly she goes out in the morning, and it’s much safer during daylight. But she goes out at night sometimes, too.”

“And you don’t object?”

“I pointed out the dangers once or twice, and she listened politely and said she’d keep my advice in mind. Dorothy makes her own decisions.”

Dori absorbed this for a moment, then changed the subject. “Roger, do you think Dorothy is prettier than Angel?”

Roger smiled. “I’m not an unbiased witness, but yes, I do. But they’re both very attractive women. It boils down to whether you like big bold blondes or quiet petite redheads.”

“Hair color is important, then?” Her smile had returned. He suspected she was teasing him.

Roger smiled again, “Not really. Well, some people have narrow tastes. But I don’t really have a preference for redheads. I have a preference for Dorothy. Where did you hear about Angel?”

“Jason told me about her when I asked about his old girlfriends.”

Roger froze. “Jason? Jason Beck?”

Her eyes widened. “I thought you knew. How did you find me if you didn’t know?”

“Jason Beck is your boyfriend?”

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you. I’m sorry … are you all right?”

Roger was beside himself with rage, but he couldn’t very well take it out on Dori. Beck! Of all the … He mastered himself with a tremendous effort.

“I’m sorry, Dori,” he said. He didn’t try to smile; he knew his limitations. “Beck and I and I don’t get along. I suppose you know that.”

She put a slim hand on his sleeve, concerned for him. “Yes, I know. He’s tried to kill you or Dorothy on several occasions. You’ve put him in jail three times. He was responsible for my father’s death.”

“He ought to be in prison! He’s not a suitable boyfriend!”

“He said you’d feel that way,” she said calmly.

“Anyone would feel that way!” shouted Roger.

“I don’t feel that way. Don’t I get a vote?” asked Dori, still quite calm.

Roger suddenly noticed that her hairband was more than it seemed. It looked metallic and decorative, but it was also concealing circuitry.

“What’s that in your hairband?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

“This?” she touched it, “It’s …”

“Beck’s using it to control you, isn’t he?” demanded Roger, his voice rising again. He was so angry he could barely speak.

“No, it’s for …”

“I swear,” growled Roger, “The next time I see Beck, I’m going to kill him.”

“You’re not listening to me,” complained Dori. “And I probably wouldn’t survive if … if ... if Jason … if … I wouldn’t …” she stopped and looked up at him pleadingly.

Roger’s anger turned to shame and misery. “I’m sorry, Dori. I didn’t mean to yell,” he said. “And I won’t kill Beck, either.”

She touched his sleeve again and said earnestly, “It’s all right. This must be hard for you. It’s my fault, really. I shouldn’t have told you.”

Roger tried again. “Dori, I really think you ought to talk to Dorothy. And Dorothy’s beside herself with worry. Can’t you come home with me and spent a little time with her?”

“I’m not supposed to.”

“Do it anyway.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Just let me drive you to see Dorothy. We can drop you off afterwards wherever you like.”

She looked away. After a few seconds, she asked, “Do you think I should?”

“Yes. Yes! I think it’s very important.”

She stood up. “I really want to meet Dorothy. And Angel, too. Are you really living with two women?”

“Angel’s just a friend.” Roger was surprised to realize that he was blushing.

“I need to pack some things.” She looked around, found an empty box, and handed it to him. “Could you pack the things in the bathroom? The medicine cabinet and the things of mine under the sink; parts and instruments. I’ll pack some clothes.” She opened the door of the tiny bathroom and shooed him in.

He had barely opened the medicine cabinet and realized that it was empty just as the bathroom door slammed. This was followed instantly by a low scraping sound and a heavy thump.

Roger tried to open the door, but it opened out, and something was blocking it. After getting down on the floor and peering through the crack, he realized that Dori had shoved the full-sized refrigerator across the kitchen and against the bathroom door in one swift movement.

He tried forcing the door, but it was hopeless. Something was wedging the refrigerator into place. He tried calling to Dori, but there was no response. The window was too small for him to squeeze through.

He sighed and called Norman on his wrist communicator.

*  *  *

Angel finally got the refrigerator out of the way, sliding it sideways down the hall. “That thing is heavy,” she said cheerfully as Roger opened the door. She added, “I should have brought Dorothy along. There’s never an android around when you need one.”

“I’m not in the mood, Angel,” growled Roger.

She gave him a good look. “Wow, even I never make you _this_ angry.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Suit yourself. Where’d you park your car?”

“It’s right out front.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Roger used his watch to get a fix on the car. It was only three blocks away. As he and Angel walked, Roger brought her up to date. She had a distressing tendency to snigger at the strangest moments.

He rounded on her, angry. “Angel, what’s the matter with you?”

She tried to keep a straight face but failed. “I’m sorry, Roger. I really am. But I keep thinking of this from Beck’s point of view.”

“And that’s funny, is it?” he asked sourly.

“What you don’t know is, Beck has this terrible letch on strong-willed women. If a woman’s impressed by him or does what he asks, he loses interest in her. But if she looks down on him or makes fun of him or treats him like he doesn’t exist, he’s all over her.”

“Oh, no,” moaned Roger.

“Oh, yes,” said Angel happily. “Guess who’s the strongest-willed woman Beck ever met?”

“I don’t believe it.”

“After he killed her, she came back to life right in front of him, and she didn’t even spare him a glance.”

“You’re just making this up.”

“With Beck, that’s true love. Lucky for you there was another R. Dorothy Wayneright waiting in the wings.”

“Lucky for him, you mean.”

“You’ve got that right. Of course, he’s not out of the woods yet. I’m sure he’s avoiding you and me, but I’ll bet you anything the one he’s really afraid of is Dorothy.”

They reached the car. It was locked and undamaged. Hadn’t he locked it himself? Yes, but the car recognized Dorothy and would unlock automatically when she touched the door handle. Nobody had told the car there were two Dorothies.

On the driver’s seat was a note. He unlocked the door and picked it up. It read:

_Dear Roger,_

_I am very sorry. Can you forgive me? The error was mine, but you’re taking all the consequences. That isn’t right, and I am ashamed._

_There’s so much I can’t tell you. I know that you think I’m naïve (and I am!), but things are not as bad as they seem. Everything is going to be all right; you’ll see. Try not to worry about me. I’ll call or visit as soon as I can._

_Love,_

_Dori_

_P.S. I’ve left you the hairband (I’m now wearing a plain one). It doesn’t do anything bad; it just makes me invisible to Megadeuses. Test it; you’ll see. D.W._  
  


The hairband (which of course was not really a hairband at all, but a cover for the memory access slot in Dori’s skull) was on the dashboard. Roger passed the note over to Angel, who read it and said, “Wow.”

Roger nodded in agreement.

“She seems more, I don’t know, girlish than Dorothy.”

“Yes, I think so, too.”

Angel’s eyes gleamed. “So exactly how adorable is she?”

“Angel!”

“On a scale of one to ten? An eleven? A twelve?”

“Angel!”

“You know what they say about little sisters.”

“Angel, I’ve had a really bad day so far, and it’s probably going to get worse. You’re not helping.”

“All right, I’ll tell you something useful. Beck doesn’t involve his girlfriends in his crimes and he never hits them.”

“I guess that’s something.”

“Of course, if he hit Dori he’d probably break every bone in his hand, so maybe that’s not a good thing.”

Roger managed a smile. “Thanks for getting me out of that bathroom, Angel.”

*  *  *

Angel drove her pink sports car to the rendezvous, which was scheduled for 3:00 PM. She needed to get there by 2:45, or she wouldn’t have time to bend Beck to her will before Roger showed up.

She was in a foul temper. Roger and Dorothy had gone off the deep end. It had been a week since Roger had met Dori. Beck had not called. Dori had not called. No one could find any leads on them. What was the matter with Beck? Had he dropped Dori on Roger’s doorstep for a visit shortly after their first encounter, Roger and Dorothy would have been forced to accept the _fait accompli_. The inexplicable silence was driving them out of their minds with worry.

Dorothy had stopped talking and was spending all her time standing on the parapet, gazing out over the city, as if she expected to find Dori through an act of pure will. Roger was pacing the house like a restless lion. The enormous building seemed cramped.

Angel had thought that Dorothy’s serenity would stretch even as far as accepting Beck as Dori’s boyfriend, but she had been wrong. Dorothy knew Beck only through his crimes. And she hadn’t listened when Angel, who had once been Beck’s girlfriend, had tried to explain. Dorothy _looked_ as calm as ever, but was deeply distressed. Although Dorothy wasn’t talking, Angel knew that she must have dreamed of giving her sister a perfect childhood (or whatever androids called it). And now, for Dori to have been scooped up by Beck, of all people! Dorothy’s dreams had gone up in smoke. If she learned where Beck was, she would probably be upon him like an avenging … demon.

Beck had quite a nerve. Today he was ransoming a famous oil painting. Roger had been hired to handle the owner’s interests. He didn’t know Beck was involved, but to Angel, Beck’s style was unmistakable. Beck was using a front man to deliver scripted instructions over the phone, but Angel knew that Beck would handle the exchange personally. She had managed to sneak a good look at the rendezvous instructions. That was another thing—Roger was usually very neat with his paperwork and didn’t leave it lying around. He was frazzled.

She hoped Roger hadn’t started carrying a gun. He might use it.

She reached the warehouse—Paradigm city had an endless supply of abandoned warehouses—and drove in.

Beck was there already, as she expected, resplendent in one of his horrible yellow suits. He was carefully dirtying up his car’s license plate with a tub of mud and a sponge. Beck was not the sort of man who would risk being pulled over for an unreadable license plate or a broken taillight. He’d arrive early instead and anonymize his vehicle while he waited. When he saw her car, Beck put down the tub and the sponge, pulled a damp towel out of a toolbox, and meticulously wiped his hands.

Angel stopped the car and got out. She was wearing her leather catsuit, an outfit that Beck had always found irresistible.

“Angel!” he cried, delighted. “Long time no see. So are you running errands for Crowboy these days?”

Angel marched right up to him. He held out his arms for a hug. She slapped him hard across the face. He reeled.

“Don’t talk to me!” she snarled. “Just shut up and listen. Beck, you jackass, do you have any idea what a living _hell_ my life has become? What’s the matter with you? You used to be a professional!”

“Angel,” he complained, but she cut him off.

 “What do you think you’re doing? You arranged a truce with Roger and Dorothy. I encouraged them to sign up for it, did you know that? So you were already halfway home with Dori. Once we learned about her, you had us over a barrel, because we couldn’t get rid of you without hurting her. You win. Game over. But you’ve waited a whole week now, and for nothing!”

She stopped abruptly and looked at him. He had folded his arms and was smiling at her in a smug, knowing way.

She had always been good at reading Beck. This was not his usual cackling delight at pulling off a clever bank job. It was a deeper satisfaction, as if he had conned the whole world. “Oh my god,” she said. “You’ve got something big going.” Beck opened his mouth to speak, but she said, “No, wait. Don’t tell me … You’ve made so much money you’re going to retire from crime.”

His smile broadened.

“There’s more, isn’t there? Let’s see … Oh! I know! You’re going to betray the Union in exchange for a pardon. Can’t retire properly without a pardon.”

He nodded. He was grinning now. She studied him again, “That’s not the end of it, is it? And of course, since it's you, you have to show off. With ... a con? Yes, a con. Hmmm … probably to make the Union look scarier than they really are, so everyone puts down their defeat to your heroism and good looks.”

He spoke at last, “Same old Angel. What number am I thinking of?”

“Yellow,” she said absently. He nodded. She continued, “What is it, broken-down robot parts made to look like the real thing?”

“Something like that.” He held out his arms again.

Angel stood uncertainly, unable to decide whether to hug him or slap him again. Beck wisely took a step forward and enfolded her in his arms.

She rested her cheek against his shoulder and sighed. “I don’t know why I like you,” she said gently. “It’s not like you ever say anything nice or do anything sensible.”

“Look who’s talking,” he murmured.

“Where was I?” she asked, cuddling a little closer. “So you betray the Union in a dramatic way. They get extra prison time and you get a pardon. And then …” she shoved him away, suddenly angry again. “You jackass! You’ve decided that you don’t want to show up on Roger’s doorstep until you’ve got a pardon, a medal, and the keys to the city, so you can look him square in the eye and say, ‘I’m as respectable as you are, pal, so don’t tell _me_ Dori’s too good for me.’” She stamped her foot in vexation, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Beck defensively.

_“What’s wrong with it?”_ screeched Angel, furious. “Dori screwed up your schedule, that’s what’s wrong with it! That bit only works if you keep her a _secret_ until the last instant! Not if you play an idiot shell game for a week instead of coming to terms! _Damn_ you, Beck!” She stabbed a shaking finger at him. “Roger is so angry that I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kill you!”

Beck was shocked. “He wouldn’t do that!”

“I’ve never seen him like this before. Honest to god, I’m afraid for all of us. And Dorothy … she scares me. If I were you, I wouldn’t be able to sleep nights. I’m afraid to meet her gaze, and she’s not angry with _me_ at all.”

Beck, taken aback, asked, “So what do you think I should do?”

“Start by getting Dori over to Roger’s house just as fast as you can. Make peace. Tell Roger and Dorothy your plan to go straight. I’ll keep your secret about the con, though I’m going to have to spill it to Dastun before the trial, so those poor fools don’t get prison time they don’t deserve. So bargain fast with the government. Put up with Roger and Dorothy’s disapproval. From what Roger says, Dori is a total charmer. You stay in the background. Keep her in the foreground. Let them see you through her eyes. I’ll do what I can. I like you, Beck. You know I do. And they listen to me if you aren’t driving them out of their minds with worry. And stop being such a smartass around Roger. He hates that.”

“I really had him wound up last time, did he tell you?”

She stamped her foot again. “Is that the _point?_ I thought you were in it for the _money_.”

“Naw, it’s the babes.” He held out his arms again.

“Look, are you going to do what I ask or not?” asked Angel, her anger draining away. “Roger will be here in a few minutes, and I need to know whether I’m protecting you or abandoning you to your fate. I’ll send some nice yellow flowers to your funeral.”

Beck sighed. “I’ll do it your way, Angel.”

Angel sagged with relief. Tears streamed down her face. She began to tremble. She hadn’t realized until now how frightened she had been, these last few days. He took her in his arms. She put her cheek against his shoulder and wept softly, still trembling. He stroked her hair and murmured soothingly. It was several minutes before she recovered enough to say, almost in a whisper, “Roger will be here any minute. We ought to arrange Dori’s visit right away. Where is she?”

“I’m right here,” said Dori.

Angel shrieked. Angel and Beck jumped apart.

“Dori!” cried Beck. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted see if Roger was all right. I hid behind the seat.”

Seeing Dori for the first time, Angel felt a sudden rush of affection. Dorothy was so reserved that Angel was still intimidated by her, but Angel knew somehow that Dori was different: open, friendly, and accepting. It didn’t matter that Angel had been weeping in her boyfriend's arms just a moment ago.

Dori turned to her, “You must be Angel. I’m Dori.” Angel blushed. They shook hands.

Dori asked, “Did you really hit Jason with a length of pipe?”

“It was only a little one,” said Angel, dabbing at her face with her handkerchief. “And everyone wants to hit him with a length of pipe.’

“That’s true,” said Dori, smiling gently.

Angel was delighted by this answer. She beamed. “Dori, how long can you comfortably be away from Beck?”

“A few hours. Longer and I get anxious, or worse.”

Angel consulted her watch. “Beck, how’s midnight tonight for a handoff? Dori can visit for a couple of hours and then I'll drive her back.”

“Fine,” said Beck. “Name the place.”

Angel dug a business card out of her purse. “That’s my number at Roger’s house, and this other one is at my apartment. Why don’t  you call me at Roger’s around eleven and give the usual switcheroo address, and I’ll meet you there. Try my apartment as a last resort. The answering service can reach me, but the line is probably bugged. You know the drill.”

Beck nodded and turned to Dori, “You ready for this, Dori?” He looked concerned, protective.

Dori was wearing her gentle smile. “It’s what I want, Jason. Thank you.” She turned to Angel. “Can you stay with me the whole time, Angel?”

“Sure, if you want me to,” said Angel, a bit perplexed.

Dori explained, “You will be my interpreter.” She turned back to Beck. He took her hands in his and they gazed into each other’s eyes for a long time. Angel turned away. They weren’t even kissing, but there was an intimacy there that she couldn’t bear to watch.

Roger’s car could be heard in the distance. Angel turned back to Beck and Dori. She was amazed to see tears in Beck’s eyes. Angel had never put tears there except by slapping him. She sighed. Another sexy man lost to android love.

She coughed. “Roger’s almost here. Dori, come with me and we’ll perch decoratively on the hood of my car. Beck, get into your car and don’t show yourself until I wave to you, okay?” Beck vanished into his car.

Roger's enormous black car pulled up about twenty yards from Angel's. Roger got out. His face was aglow.  “Dori!" he called. Dori ran to him and they embraced.

Eventually, Dori pulled back and said, “Give Angel a hug, too. She deserves it.”

Roger complied, grinning. This brought new tears, but Angel managed to conceal them from him. Stepping back, he said, “I take it we have you to thank for this, Angel?”

“And Beck. He felt like listening to reason for once.”

“You should have seen Angel,” Dori told Roger with a straight face. “I’ll bet _you_ never negotiate like that.”

“Is Beck here?” asked Roger, smiling down at her. Angel was pleased to note that Beck's name had not ruined his mood.

Angel said, “He’s going to go straight, Roger. The idiot wanted to go straight before confronting you and Dorothy, so he’d feel like a respectable suitor instead of a criminal. Dori blew his schedule, but he wouldn't change his plan, so that’s where the delay came from.”

Indignant, Roger said, “Wait a minute. I’m about to close a $350,000 ransom deal, and he’s going straight in the near future?”

“He’s in the car over there,” said Angel. “If you want to convince him to go straight right now and save your client a lot of money, I’m not stopping you.” She waved to Beck, who got out of the car. He was managing to look reasonably cool under the circumstances. The beard really helped, she decided. It balanced the idiotic curls. He’d looked like a sissy clean-shaven.

The two men started walking towards each other. As they got closer, Beck’s annoying smile began flashing on and off like a semaphore. Angel smiled. Good: he was nervous. She’d really gotten through to him.

Her watch beeped. Roger’s must have, too, because he jumped a little and raised it to look at the face.

“Master Roger,” said Norman. “General Dastun reports that a group of giant robots has been spotted several miles outside the city.”

“No!” wailed Beck. “Not today! Tomorrow! I haven’t installed the overrides yet!”

Roger, ignoring Beck, called into the watch, “Big O! It’s showtime!”

A moment later, Roger drove off to his rendezvous point.

Dori had dashed over to Beck’s car and gotten in on the passenger side.

Beck objected, “Dori, you go with Angel.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Do I have to make you get out?” asked Beck in exasperation.

“You may try,” Dori replied calmly, “But I doubt if you have the strength.”

Beck laughed, put the car in gear, and drove off with Dori.

*  *  *

Angel let them get a good head start, then tailed them. Beck drove into a tall abandoned factory through the open front bay. Angel parked outside.

A couple of minutes later, a Megadeus strode out. It wore the remains of its original paint job: yellow with black trim.

Angel chuckled. “I guess you can keep secrets from me after all, Beck,” she said to herself. “For a little while, anyway.”

*  *  *

The console lit up.

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD . . .   
YE NOT GUILTY

“Big B! Action!” called Beck. Big B strode out of the factory. Beck guided him towards the wastelands.

Behind him, Dori had opened the memory access tray in her forehead and removed the false hairband. She replaced it with a bulkier device, polished gold in color. She closed the tray. The new device stuck out several inches, like an oddly shaped tiara. It contained eight round golden sockets.

“I will be using the probe cables, Jason,” she said calmly.

Beck turned around in his seat, “Dori! No!”

“Big B and I have discussed it. It’s perfectly safe. You know it is.”

“Not for certain! I don’t want to risk it!”

“This is _my_ decision, Jason.”

He sighed. “Just wait a minute, will ya?” He stopped Big B and walked around to where she was standing. He took her hands in his. “All right,” he said, looking woebegone. “Go ahead.”

They looked into each other’s eyes as Big B slotted the eight cables home into their sockets.

Across the control room, readouts and control panels lit up. There was the sound of distant machinery being engaged. The hum in the control room changed its tone and became distinctly louder.

Dori smiled her gentle smile. “It’s working, Jason, and I’m fine.” She patted his cheek. “Let’s get to work.”

Beck went back to the command seat. Big B lumbered back into motion.

“Jason?” asked Dori.

“Yeah?”

“We need to let Roger know what to expect.”

Beck said, “I don’t want to reveal our identity yet.”

There was a pause, then Dori said, “Big B can exchange information about the targets with Big O. I’m getting him up to speed on the targets now.”

“That’s great, Dori.”

*  *  *

Inside Big O, Dorothy said, “Big B reports four targets, three of them remotely piloted robots, and one damaged Megadeus converted to manual piloting.”

“Big B?”

“That’s his name. He is the same Megadeus who assisted us with the cyborgs.”

Roger smiled. “The press calls him the Megadeus of Mystery.”

Dorothy continued. “The three robots are of the type used to attack the amusement park dome. All three are armed with laser cannon. In addition, they have racks of missiles and one is apparently a walking bomb.” She rattled off some additional specifications.

“That doesn’t sound too bad if we can blow the walking bomb before we get too close. The other armament is pretty light.”

“Yes. The Megadeus has no core memory at all, but is fully armed with eye lasers, machine guns, a reality cannon, and an unidentified system which is probably not a weapon at all.”

“What in the world is a reality cannon?” asked Roger.

“I have no idea. Apparently the device is mostly or entirely non-functional.”

“Tell Big B that we ought to gang up on the other Megadeus first, if we can, and try to disable it before the bomb-bot gets close. Then we take out the bomb-bot, and finally the small fry.”

“Big B agrees.”

Roger called Dastun on the radio to get an idea of what was going on. The robots had walked through the outskirts of the city, causing some damage, and then retreated into the wastelands. Dastun had thrown out a screen of tanks to maintain contact, but was not attacking. He was waiting for the Megadeuses.

“I’m using my two new aircraft to keep track of them,” he said proudly. “The enemy has taken a few pot shots at them, but so far they’ve missed. Visibility is good, so we can maintain visual contact from a long way off.”

Dastun recommended a line of march that allowed his forces to provide covering fire for the Megadeuses, and vice versa. The Megadeuses would be a quarter of a mile apart; close enough to provide mutual assistance, far enough apart that they couldn’t both be blasted by the same weapon. Big O was on the right; Big B on the left. They were in a region of sand dunes with broken skyscrapers sticking through here and there.

Roger told Dorothy, “I could get used to these combined operations. Teamwork is a wonderful thing.”

“Roger,” said Dorothy. “Are we walking into a trap?”

“Probably.”

“What should I be looking for?”

“Hidden things. Camouflaged gun emplacements. Anomalous sources of heat. Large pieces of metal. Hollow spaces in the ground. Electrical activity.”

“Vehicles emerging from tunnels.”

“Things like that, yes.”

“Three vehicles emerging at two o’clock.”

“Notify Dastun and Big B,” said Roger as he slewed Big O around to face the menace. Three flat-bed trucks had pulled out of a tunnel. Each carried a single rocket about forty feet long on a launcher that angled up over the cab. Roger hurriedly engaged the eye lasers. Even if he missed, the operators of the missile launchers would probably hit the dirt and stay there, and their eyes would be dazzled. The lasers hit one of the trucks, shearing the cab off but leaving the missile launcher unharmed. Big O missed the other two trucks completely.

“Missile launched.”

The missile launched quite slowly. Since it was headed directly towards Big O, it made an easy target. Roger held Big O still so he could get a better aim, and fired the eye lasers. The missile exploded a hundred yards ahead of Big O. Fragments of missile slammed into Big O, but caused no damage.

“Missile launched.”

Roger didn’t have time to line up the lasers on this missile, so he tried dodging to the side. There was an explosion as the truck that launched the missile blew up. The missile swerved and buried itself in a sand dune.

“Big B destroyed the missile launcher. Missile launched.”

The third missile was in the air, this one aimed at Big B. Roger didn’t have a good shot at the missile itself, so he used the eye lasers to destroy the missile launcher. The missile passed within a few feet of Big B’s head and kept going for several miles before exploding somewhere out of sight.

“Robots approaching at ten o’clock.”

“Ha! They got their timing wrong. They should have shown up at the same time as the missile launchers. Lock missiles on whatever’s nearest. Be prepared to use the chromebuster on my signal.”

The robots appeared on the sensor screen first, and then hove into view over a low hill. The three identical-looking robots were well in front; the Megadeus was hanging back.

“Which robot has the bomb?” asked Roger.

“I can’t tell.”

The robots were only a quarter of a mile away. The Megadeus was over a mile away. Big B fired his left-hand cannon at the Megadeus, which dodged the projectile easily. Big B switched to eye lasers, which didn’t have a hope of damaging the Megadeus. What was Big B playing at?

“Chromebuster!” called Roger.

Big O adopted a firing stance. Roger aimed carefully at the other Megadeus. “Fire!” he called.

There was a delay of several seconds as the chromebuster charged up. Then it fired at the enemy Megadeus. Aiming the chromebuster was tricky. The glare from the beam made it impossible to see the target, and the beam itself interfered with radar and sensors. Roger switched off the beam after several seconds. A streak of lava showed that the beam had struck thirty feet to the left of the enemy Megadeus.

“Missiles locked.”

“Any idea which robot has the bomb?”

“No.”

“Four missiles, fire!”

A brace of missiles snapped out of Big O’s torso and sped towards the nearest robot. The missiles, with plenty of time to get up to speed, slammed into the robot with full force. The warheads exploded and tore huge rents in its torso. One of its arms flew end over end in the air.

Still the robot came on. It was firing its laser cannon at Big B, to no effect that Roger could see.

“Well, at least that one’s not the bomb,” said Roger.

A few shells started exploding near the robots. Some of Dastun’s tanks were coming into range.

Big B was closer to the robots. He extended the plasma lance in his right hand and advanced on the damaged robot. Big B made a big show of brandishing the plasma lance as he advanced, then, from a distance of about fifty feet, fired his left-hand cannon into the robot’s head. The head was torn from its body and the robot fell over, to lie inert and smoking on the ground.

The second robot paused and fired its missiles at Big O, who raised his forearms protectively just in time. After a series of explosions, the forearm armor was glowing in places and had pits up to three feet deep, but nowhere had the armor been breached.

“Lock missiles on the Megadeus,” said Roger. Then, “Chromebuster!”

He fired the chromebuster at the other Megadeus again, but missed. The Megadeus was still hanging back, though the range was now only half a mile. It had not fired so far.

Big B seemed to have decided to take out both of the remaining robots at close range. That didn’t make any sense!

Roger decided that Big B was making a demonstration to distract the robots until someone else finished them off. “Targeting chromebuster on the nearest robot,” he said.

As the chromebuster charged, Dorothy said, “Missiles locked.”

“Four missiles, fire!”

The missiles shot out towards the enemy Megadeus just before big O’s chromebuster fired at the second robot. There was a terrific flash as the robot, its torso packed with high explosives, blew up. Big B was blown a hundred feet backwards, but through some miracle managed to land on his feet. The third robot was blown onto its back and was half buried by debris.

Roger looked around for the enemy Megadeus. “Where is it?” he asked.

Before Dorothy could answer, Big B fired his left-hand cannon at the prostrate robot. There was another enormous flash as the robot exploded. Big B was knocked off his feet this time, and Big O, much further away, was blown back three paces.

“These guys are full of surprises, Dorothy,” said Roger with a grim smile. “Find me that Megadeus.”

“I can’t pick it up,” said Dorothy. Could we have destroyed it with our missiles?

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

Big B was back on his feet, apparently undamaged.

“Dastun, where the hell is that other Megadeus?” said Roger into his radio.

“What? It’s right on top of you!” shouted Dastun.

Roger looked around wildly, then noticed a shimmering in the air. When he looked at it directly, the Megadeus became perfectly visible.

“Nice trick, pal,” said Roger, “but I see you now!”

The other Megadeus, only a hundred yards away, began to charge its chromebuster.

“Hip anchors!” called Roger, grabbing the appropriate controls. He fired the hip chains into the stub of a skyscraper sticking out of the dunes, and reeled them in at full speed. Big O was jerked sideways just as the enemy’s chromebuster went off. Roger released the chains and Big O strode forward, fists raised. The instant the enemy’s chromebuster winked out, Big O punched the Megadeus in the head with his left. Then he hit it in the throat with his right, hoping to stun the pilot.

The missile launcher ports opened on the other Megadeus’ torso. Roger had a good view of rack upon rack of missiles pointed right at him, then suddenly the enemy Megadeus staggered backwards, having been hit by a shell from Big B’s left-hand cannon. The missiles sprayed across the sky and vanished.

“Thanks, Big B!” shouted Roger. Big O leapt forward and pounded the Megadeus over and over with his arm pistons, never letting it regain its balance. Pieces of armor flew off the Megadeus. A blow to the head started a dazzling fire; the chromebuster had been damaged. The blows drove it backwards step by step, first walking, then staggering. After a dozen paces, it lost its balance completely and toppled onto its back.

“Self-destruct sequence engaged,” reported Dorothy. “Five seconds.”

“Warn Big B,” said Roger. Big O raised his forearms protectively and walked backwards as fast as he could. The fallen Megadeus became intensely bright as squiggles of unearthly brilliance writhed across it like snakes. Then ...

It was more than an explosion. The flash and the noise and the half-molten debris smashing into Big O were only to be expected, but there was also a wave of memories and emotions, too fleeting to grasp, that made Roger feel weak and ill.

When the spots receded from Roger’s eyes, he looked for the crater where the Megadeus had been. There was none. The hillside, barren everywhere else, was covered with a carpet of wildflowers. There was no sign of the Megadeus or of the explosion.

“Dorothy, what just happened?” asked Roger.

“I’m not sure,” said Dorothy. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Roger sighed. “Well, what else is new?” He looked around. No enemies in sight. Big B, who had been further back in any event, seemed unharmed.

“Check with Big B to see if there are any other enemies,” he told Dorothy. He spoke into the radio. “Dastun? Do you have any other targets for me?”

“Not at the moment, Roger. I think we may have gotten them all. And we’ve rounded up quite a few Union operatives as well. Big B radioed the locations of their command bunkers.”

Roger slumped in the command chair. “Just another day in the City of Amnesia,” he said to no one in particular.

*  *  *

Beck said, “Well, that’s all of them. Get Roger on the horn.”

Dori asked, “Do you want video?”

“Yeah, but just me, not you. They get weird about you.”

The camera at the front of the cockpit panned down, excluding Dori from the shot. “On screen.”

The front screen lit up, showing Roger and Dorothy.

“Beck!” cried Roger in amazement.

“Hiya, Roger old pal,” said Beck with his crooked grin. “That was some fancy shooting.”

Roger was angry. “What are you trying to pull, Beck?”

“I’m doing my bit as a responsible citizen, Roger old buddy, just like you.” Beck kept his grin in place, but he was annoyed. This was not the reception he was looking for.

“But you were on their side!”

“Was I?” snapped Beck. “Well, I suppose you’d know. After all, you weren’t there.”

“Jason,” said Dori. “Angel warned you not to needle him like this.”

Roger looked startled. “Dori? Is that you?”

Dori panned the camera upwards so she was included in the shot. “Yes, I’m here.”

Dorothy gasped. “Dori! Take out the probe cables!”

The probe cables withdrew from the adapter on Dori’s forehead and hovered in the air.

Dori opened her mouth to speak, but Dorothy went on, “You’re not old enough to use them! They could damage your mind.”

Beck was furious. “Back off, Dorothy! Nobody asked you! Since when are you the damned expert, anyway?”

Roger was enraged. “I knew Dori wasn’t safe with a swine like you!”

“That does it!” shouted Beck. He grabbed the controls and urged Big B forward. Roger did the same with Big O.

Neither Megadeus moved.

“Dorothy!” shouted Roger in exasperation.

“Dori!” shouted Beck.

“They will not fight,” said Dori and Dorothy together. “This is between the two of you.”

“All right, then,” said Beck, standing up. The front console withdrew to let him step forward. He grinned. “I’ve always wanted to do this, Roger.”

Roger also stood up and made his way to the front of Big O’s cockpit.

Dori hurried around. She threw her arms around Beck and kissed him. When she withdrew, she was holding his pistol.

“Dori!”

“You won’t be needing this, Jason,” she said. “You can beat Roger to a pulp if you like, but no killing and no maiming.” She placed the pistol on the command seat. “Do you hear me, Jason?”

“Whatever you say, Dori. One pulp coming up.”

“And Jason?” She looked up at him, troubled.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken. You told me not to.”

He grinned and said, “Yeah, but look how well it’s all working out! I’ve wanted to punch out old Crowboy for ages.”

The two men met on the sand between the two Megadeuses. Dori helped Beck remove his coat, tie, and empty shoulder holster. Dorothy took Roger’s coat and tie. The two Waynerights held back as the men walked to within a few feet of each other.

“You want to set any rules, Roger old pal?” asked Beck, smiling.

“You wouldn’t follow them,” snarled Roger.

Beck didn’t reply, but his smile vanished.

There was some preliminary circling. The two men were well matched. Beck was taller but Roger was more heavily muscled.

They closed. Roger landed a heavy blow to Beck’s eye. Beck made a show of staggering back, and when Roger followed, he landed a ferocious jab to Roger’s stomach and then a blow to his ear. Then they rained blows on each other almost too fast to follow.

A particularly heavy blow to Beck’s temple sent him to one knee, where he picked up a handful of sand and threw it in Roger’s eyes. Roger kicked him in the stomach and fell back.

Beck, unable to rise, lunged forward when Roger returned and grabbed his ankle, tripping him. Then the two men were rolling on the ground, alternately punching and trying to choke one another. One of Roger’s eyes was swollen shut and he was bleeding from a cut on his forehead. He had pretty much lost the use of his right hand. Beck was bleeding freely from nose and mouth. He, too, had the use of only one eye.

The two rolled apart and got to their feet, where they stood, panting. Then they closed again, into a clinch, pounding each other feebly.

There was a pistol shot. Roger and Beck sprang apart and looked around wildly.

Angel stood on top of a nearby dune, her nickel-plated automatic pointed straight up in the air.

She shouted, “What is this, a dance marathon? Break it up. End of round one. Back to your corners.” She indicated Dori and Dorothy with her free hand. “Move it.”

Dori and Dorothy retrieved their respective champions and sat them down on the sand some distance apart.

Angel put her gun away. She strolled over to Roger and looked down at him. “You’re looking well,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“You should have seen the other guy,” said Roger, trying to smile and wincing at the pain.

“He’s no oil painting, either. Hey, speaking of oil paintings, guess what Beck abandoned back at his car! So just go one more round and then quit, okay? We don’t want anyone to say we’re irresponsible.”

Dorothy asked, “Why one more round?”

Angel said, “I missed most of round one.”

Dorothy considered this for a moment, then said, “Let’s call it a draw.”

Roger hesitated and peered with swollen eyes in Beck’s direction. “I can’t make him out very clearly.”

“He looks terrible,” Angel assured him.

Roger sighed, then smiled very carefully. “All right, Angel. Negotiate a draw with Beck if you can.”

Angel sauntered over to the other side and spoke briefly with Beck and Dori, then returned, smiling.

“A draw it is,” she said.

The two Dorothies crossed the blood-spattered sand. They stopped a couple of feet apart and stared intently into each other’s faces.  Then suddenly they met in a fierce hug.

After an endless, silent moment, Dori said, “Don’t cry, Dorothy.”

“I am not crying. I can’t cry.”

“Don’t cry. It’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”

They clung together for a long time. Finally, Dorothy let go and said, a little brokenly, “We’d better tend to our men.”

Roger and Beck were back on their feet. Beck wore an odd, sad smile. Roger looked embarrassed, yet proud. Dorothy walked up to Roger and took him by the hand. Wordlessly, she led him towards Big O. Dori took Beck to Big B.

*  *  *

Roger surveyed the scene at the mansion. His swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of the other eye. Beck was slumped back in one of the penthouse couches, a vodka martini in his hand. His face was so swollen he could barely talk, so he had hired Angel to do his negotiating for him.

Initially, Dastun had represented the Military Police and, by extension, Paradigm City, but he was so susceptible to Angel’s flirting that she could make him lose his train of thought just by winking. Roger had taken pity on Dastun after a few minutes and offered his negotiator’s services. Dastun was now barricaded behind a table to keep Angel at arm’s length.

Roger was not indifferent to Angel’s charms, but he found her less attractive, not more, when she was flirting. She knew this, and had changed into one of her most respectable business outfits, which was exquisitely tailored and showed her off to advantage. With Angel, there was never a moment’s truce in the war between the sexes.

They got through the terms with only a reasonable amount of bickering, considering that Angel was showing off for Beck, who was encouraging her with mumbles of approval.

Norman was hovering around solicitously, and no doubt it was purely by accident that he always seemed to be in the right place to hear the juiciest gossip. Roger noticed that Norman was plying Beck and Angel with alcohol and Roger and Dastun with coffee. Angel was not the only one who knew a trick or two.

Dori and Dorothy were over at one of the tables. Dori was talking slowly and drawing rapidly on large sheets of drafting paper. At the moment she was describing the various bits of hairband circuitry that Beck had come up with. Roger had already gotten a brief description of the probe cable adapter, which blocked some signals and attenuated others to prevent any overloading of the developing android mind. It was also the only way to use the probe cables without first removing the memory circuitry from an android’s forehead. The implications of this were still unclear to Roger, but tonight was not the time to ask. Beck had come up with the adapter idea, and Big B knew all about the Megadeus side of the probe-cable interface, meaning that an improved model was just a matter of time. Dori could extract technical details from Big B even without the probes, though she reported that the process was slow and uncertain, “like reading illegible handwriting.” She claimed that humans could do this too, but not so well.

Unlike Dorothy’s slow, precise, elegant drawings in ink, Dori used an ordinary pencil at great speed, with a bold, decisive style. And while Dorothy never made mistakes, Dori drew a little faster than she thought and used the eraser frequently. Sometimes she wadded up a drawing and threw it across the room at the wastebasket. She always missed. Was this impatience Beck’s influence? How had she and Dorothy become so different, while still being so much alike?

Angel mussed his hair, which for some reason she did whenever she could.

“Sorry,” said Roger. “I was thinking.”

“Bad habit in a negotiator,” said Angel. “Anyway, we’re done, aren’t we?” She looked at her shorthand notes. “Beck gives up his life of crime and becomes a model citizen, more or less. Beck to be pardoned immediately, city to compensate his more recent victims, Beck to get first pickings of the Union techno-spoils, Big B to remain a secret. Dori can’t be a secret because she’ll be seen everywhere with Beck, but the city will pretend to know nothing about her. Beck’s pardon and sudden heroic stature to be explained by his turning his coat on the Union guys (even though they double-crossed him before he could double-cross them). Everything from Wayneright’s lab in Beck's possession is to be shared with Dorothy. Beck to maintain his Megadeus at his own expense, though we all know he’ll plead poverty almost instantly and demand secret funds from the city, which we all know will be paid. Roger and I get a negotiator’s fee. Dan gets his handsome salary from the city, plus a hot date with the negotiator of his choice.”

Dastun looked from Angel to Roger. “Tough choice,” he said.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Angel. “Dan Dastun, you will promise that, if it turns out there’s another R. Dorothy Wayneright out there, you’ll keep your greedy mitts off her, because I’ll be damned if every sexy man in the city is going to be lost to an R. Dorothy Wayneright. It’s just not fair!”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Dastun. He turned to Roger. “What do you think, Negotiator?”

Roger smiled. “You’re looking at this all wrong, Angel. Never mind Dan. What you need is an android boyfriend.”

Dori looked up from her drawing. To no one in particular, she remarked, “Four hundred pounds of pure masculinity.”

Beck laughed so hard he almost choked.

**[We Have Come to Terms]**


	5. Act 31: The Underground Error

**Act 31: The Underground Error**

 

A little before midnight, the two criminals met in a corner booth of the bar. The music was so loud that there was no chance of their being overheard.

“One of my boys has been given guard duty at the Foster place from midnight to six a.m. tomorrow night,” said the first crook. He was fat and middle-aged, but seemed hard, somehow. “Some of the staff comes on duty around five, so we can have four, maybe five hours. It looks like all five million are still in the safe.”

“Any luck with the combination?” asked the other crook, a skinny old guy who had lost two fingers from his right hand.

“Nothing. I don’t think we can open it without Beck.”

“Has he really gone straight?”

“He’s hanging out with General Dastun and Roger Smith. He’s either gone straight or is playing such a deep game that his share of the loot won’t tempt him.”

“But he’s opened that safe once before! They say it only took him fifteen minutes. Five million, for god’s sake! How can anyone go straight when there’s that kind of money to be made!”

“Well, it’s not like we’ve asked him.”

“Screw asking him. Let’s see if we can’t nab him tomorrow and _make_ him open the damned safe. He can take his share and keep his mouth shut or he can sleep with the fishes. That’s the way to deal with Beck. If he’s in, he’s in. He’s a pro. But if he isn’t in, we can’t leave him alive to shoot his mouth off. He’ll come around once he sees he doesn’t have a choice.”

*  *  *

Dorothy arrived at the kitchen first, at 6:55 a.m., as she always did. She ground some coffee beans and put on a pot of coffee. Then she set the kitchen table for five.

Norman came through the door at the stroke of seven, as alert and tidy as Dorothy herself. “Good morning, Dorothy!” he said cheerfully.

“Good morning, Norman,” she replied calmly.

The kitchen was Norman’s domain, and the rules were different here than in Roger’s part of the house. In the kitchen, “Miss Dorothy” became simply “Dorothy.” The same was true for Angel and Dori. Roger, however, was always “Master Roger,” Beck was always “Mr. Beck,” and Dastun was always “General.” Of the three, only Beck had tried to get Norman to use his first name, but Norman did not approve of him sufficiently to do so.

Angel drifted in as Norman started making suggestions about the morning meal. As usual, she wore pink silk pajamas and a pink robe. She was barefoot. She shuffled over to the coffee pot and stared at it blearily, willing it to finish brewing.

“Good morning, Angel,” said Dorothy, getting out a mug.

“Ungh,” said Angel.

Beck burst into the room with Dori. He had just arrived. Dori often took a cab to the mansion in the middle of the night to be with Dorothy while everyone else was asleep. Beck retrieved her in the morning and was gone before Roger awoke. Beck and Roger still didn’t get along. “Good morning, my fine feathered friends!” he said in a loud, cheerful voice. Angel winced. “And what are we having today?” He took off his suit coat and exchanged it for an apron.

Dori hugged Dorothy, Norman, and Angel in turn. To Angel she said, “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

“Coffee,” said Angel.

Dorothy filled Angel’s cup, added cream and three spoons of sugar, and passed it over. Angel slumped into her place at the table and held her cup in both hands.

Beck was arguing over the menu with Norman. After a moment Norman capitulated, smiling, and allowed Dori to lead him to his place at the table. Beck grinned and started barking orders to everyone but Norman. Angel glared at him but did not move, as usual, so preparation was down to Beck and the Wayneright sisters. Norman’s rule was that, if you ate in his kitchen, you had to help. He and Angel would do most of the washing up. No one wanted Angel’s help before her third cup of coffee, and Beck and Norman couldn’t both cook at the same time. Their methods, styles, and wills clashed.

The enormous kitchen had plenty of room for three people to work at once. In no time ham, eggs, toast, sausages, fruit, oatmeal, juice, hash browns, pancakes, and bacon were being prepared. Norman preferred fancier dishes, while Beck preferred simpler fare. He was an excellent cook, though, having learned the trade in his teens as a front for his crimes. Working at hotels, always willing to work evenings, deliver room service, or work catering jobs, he had ample opportunity to case the jewelry and homes of Paradigm’s wealthiest citizens. At private parties, he would not only cook, but would helpfully take a tray of drinks or _hors d’oeuvres_ out when one of the waiters wanted to sneak out back for a smoke. With a tray in his hands, he was invisible. When the tray was empty, he could generally case the entire house before he was missed. He had located many a concealed safe in this way.

Breakfast was his favorite meal, though obviously it had been more lucrative for him to be the late-night room-service chef or an under-cook at a fancy party.

Beck had a soft spot for cooking and a certain nostalgia for his early career as a jewel thief and safecracker, before he turned to more high-tech work. He was also trying—too hard, really—to charm Norman.

There was quite a bit of talk throughout. Dorothy was almost silent, but Angel perked up after her second cup of coffee and started throwing barbs at Beck, who gave as good as he got. About half the time they addressed their comments to Dori, who generally agreed with whatever they said to her.

“I feel sorry for you,” Angel told her. “I really do. Beck is such a pig.”

“I like pigs,” said Dori.

“And he has no manners.”

“I’ve noticed that,” said Dori.

“I was a perfect gentleman until I met Angel,” said Beck.

“Perfect gentleman?” asked Angel incredulously. “Did he ever tell you how we met?”

“No,” said Dori.

“I was minding my own business, having dinner at a restaurant …”

“Drinking in a bar,” Beck corrected.

_“Having dinner,”_ Angel said emphatically, _“at a restaurant,_ when this man in a yellow suit and a blond girlie wig …”

“Hey!” objected Beck.

“That’s what it looked like. When this chromium yellow _apparition_ bursts into the room, dives under my table, and makes shushing noises like a steam whistle. Then two thugs with drawn pistols come into the room and started looking around. I didn’t like the looks of the thugs, so I kept eating as if nothing was happening. But you know how excitable Beck is in a crisis. He can’t keep quiet. He starts asking me questions about what the thugs are doing and saying things about my legs and asking me if I had a boyfriend. I had to keep kicking him to shut him up!”

“They really are great legs,” said Beck.

“It was quiet in there, and he keeps yammering on as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. I was wearing open-toed shoes and I nearly broke my foot keeping him quiet! Finally the thugs leave and Beck pops out from under the table like a jack-in-the-box and propositions me on the spot! I was so angry I would have screamed if I hadn’t been laughing so hard.”

There was a pause, then Dori asked, “Is there a moral to this story?”

Angel nodded emphatically, “Avoid open-toed footwear.”

They sat down to eat. Beck merely picked at his food. He always tried to come across as cool and confident, but he had a nervous temperament and often ate almost nothing for days at a stretch. Dori and Dorothy, who as androids did not, of course, have to eat at all, ate more than he did. Angel ate like a horse, as usual. Only Norman’s appetite had nothing noteworthy about it.

After breakfast, Dori and Beck departed. Angel, Dorothy, and Norman washed up. Angel kept up a stream of conversation with Norman, mostly about trivia, since Norman was very close-mouthed about Big O and Roger’s negotiating work, and nothing about buttling could hold Angel’s attention. However, Norman was an incurable gossip where people outside the household were concerned (though it was amazing how genteel and dignified he could make gossip seem).

“What’s on the schedule today?” asked Dorothy.

Before Norman could answer, the telephone rang. Norman picked it up, “Smith residence.” He listened for a moment. “One moment, please, sir.”

He put a hand over the telephone receiver and asked Angel, “Are you at home to a Mr. Worthington?”

Angel nodded and reached for the receiver. “Hello, Murray? What’s up?” She listened for a moment and said, “I’ll meet you in half an hour. Bye, Murray.” She hung up. Noticing Norman’s and Dorothy’s neutral expressions, she said, “Business. It’s probably nothing, but I ought to follow it up. I’ll probably be back in time for lunch.” With that, she left the kitchen and headed for her room.

When she had gone, Dorothy repeated, “What’s on the schedule for today?”

“There is some track damage on one of the spur lines. The power has been interrupted. Probably another broken rail. Master Roger should be up by ten this morning. And no doubt there are household chores to be done.”

“Not many. Dori and I have polished off most of the list.”

“I wonder if that girl realizes what a help she is to me,” said Norman, smiling.

“She likes to stay busy.”

Norman surveyed the kitchen. It was spotless. “Well, Dorothy, we’ll want coveralls, helmets, and gloves. Shall we meet at the Prairie Dog in ten minutes?”

“All right.”

*  *  *

Murray pushed another seismograph chart across his cluttered desk. Angel held it next to the other one.

Murray pointed, “Those periodic blips, forty-two seconds apart—I think they’re an elevator. It’s heading to the top level, encountering an obstruction, and dropping back to the level below. Then it repeats.”

“How can you tell the obstruction is at the top?”

“There’s an echo, see? That’s inside the main chamber.”

“Okay, Murray, I’ll take this information off your hands. Where is this place?”

He plucked a map off a heap of papers. Murray’s office was dingy and terribly cluttered, but he never seemed to have any trouble finding anything. He worked in a shabby office building outside the domes, a freelance fact-finder. He had seismographs all over town. It was a specialized business, since very few people were willing to go underground because of the terror effect, no matter what interesting data showed up though his arcane fact-finding.

Murray showed her a street map with five concentric circles of different sizes drawn on it. Four of them nearly overlapped at a point outside the East Side Dome. Murray said, “The Megadeus has been so active in the last couple of years that I’ve been able to improve the calibration of my underground locators.”

“What, every time he bursts up through the ground you get to calibrate your readings?”

“Yes, and there’s interesting data from when it moves around, too; both above ground and especially below.”

“You’ll keep that under your hat, Murray, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Don’t worry. The Megadeus is looking out for all of us. And it has a guardian Angel protecting it.” He smiled.

She smiled back. “How do I get there, Murray?”

He gave her a handwritten sheet of directions and a pair of photographs. “These shouldn’t be much trouble, but I haven’t checked them in a couple of years. I wish I could tell you more. All I’ve got is one of the big underground domes and an elevator.”

“You’re a wizard, Murray. Thanks.”

*  *  *

Norman stopped the subway car a couple of hundred yards from the break, just before a utility box. He and Dorothy got out. Both were wearing black coveralls and hard hats with attached lamps. The tunnel was large and double-tracked, making six rails in all; the two sets of load-bearing rails and two current-carrying “third rails.” Norman opened the utility box with his key and threw the two enormous oil-quenched knife switches that controlled the current to the damaged section of track. He locked the box again. “All safe.”

They walked down the line, moving slowly, gazing up at the ceiling and down at the floor. Breaks in the line happened sometimes, usually after the Prairie Dog had just passed, but there was always the possibility of geological disturbance or sabotage.

“Oh, dear,” said Norman. Ahead, part of the tunnel floor had collapsed. The four load-bearing rails were intact, their ties still attached, drooping over a hole in the floor a dozen feet wide. The third rails, more lightly constructed, had both separated.

“What will we do now?” asked Dorothy.

“We could bridge it,” said Norman, “or we could use the tunneling machine to bypass this section of line. Let’s take a closer look.”

He walked down the track, stepping on the ties, until he got near the edge of the crater, and then got down and crawled the rest of the way. A few rocks fell into the crater, but nothing more.

“What do you see, Norman?” asked Dorothy, who, conscious of her weight, was hanging back.

“The line seems to have collapsed into one of the hemispherical chambers we find under the city,” he reported. “I can’t see very far inside, but we seem to be almost at the base of the chamber.”

“Are you going to investigate?”

“Master Roger doesn’t approve of spelunking under the city. We can drive a new tunnel that bypasses the chamber. With the tunneling and track-laying equipment, we should be done before supper.”

“Shall I help you?”

“Please. You are unaffected by the waves of terror that come and go here. It would be most inconvenient if I were to be prostrated here by myself.”

“Has Roger ever felt the fear when in Big O, here underground?”

“Never. I believe that Big O is shielded.”

*  *  *

Angel stopped in front of a drug store and went in to use the pay phone. She took a stenographer’s pad out of her purse and ran a finger down a list written in her unique (and, in this case, encoded) shorthand. Then she dialed a number “Dori? Hi, it’s Angel. Let me talk to Beck … Beck? Listen, I need to talk to you. Business. When can you meet me? Thirty minutes? Great. Get a pencil. Rendezvous 17A. Right. 17A. Oh, and bring Dori if you can. Bye.”

*  *  *

Dorothy, now wearing one of her black dresses, poured Roger another cup of coffee as he finished his breakfast.

He was in his bathrobe and pajamas, with his hair all mussed, as usual. Norman stood in the background.

Roger pushed his plate away and took a sip of coffee. This was the signal that it was all right to talk about the coming day. Roger started off. “I have a meeting with Dastun at eleven-thirty, followed by lunch with somebody he thinks I ought to meet. I figure I ought to be home around two. Where’s Angel?”

Norman said, “She had some kind of business, Master Roger. She called twenty minutes ago to say she would probably be gone all afternoon, but should be back by suppertime.”

Roger nodded. Angel had been doing various kinds of consulting work, mostly based on straightening out the mess left behind by Alex Rosewater. As his former secretary, she knew a lot of things that had either never been written down, or for which the records had been destroyed or stolen. A lot of the work had been for Dastun and the Military Police, but she had other clients, too. She was annoyingly vague about it all. On the other hand, she was completely reliable about phoning if she was likely to be late.

“And what are you doing today, Norman?”

“There is a break in the track on one of the spur lines. A cave-in where the line passed too close to a hemispherical chamber, I believe. It is too wide to bridge easily. Miss Dorothy and I will dig a bypass tunnel and lay new track. We expect to be finished in time to prepare supper on schedule.”

Roger nodded. The speed with which Norman’s automated equipment worked wasn’t news to him. “Which line is it?”

“The one to the East Side Dome.”

“I’m sure we can live without it for this afternoon.” He stood up. “Keep me posted.”

*  *  *

Beck and Dori met Angel at a diner close to the waterfront. She had chosen it at random from 24-hour eateries in the phone book, back when she made the list she shared with Beck. Angel was surprised by how good the food was. There was a brisk early lunch business, but Angel managed to snag a corner booth. She sat next to Beck and they murmured their conversations almost into each other’s ears, as Dori looked on with interest. Could she hear what they were saying? She resolved to ask later.

“Beck, I need to go underground to check a place out. There might be memories or other interesting goodies there. Did you ever make any progress on figuring out how the terror effect worked?”

  
“Nope. Sorry. We learned a few things, but we don’t have a cure and we can’t predict when it will happen. You can stay down for days sometimes and not get hit by it. Sometimes you’ll get hit twice in the same hour. Usually—not always—it moves down a tunnel in a sort of wave, maybe twenty miles an hour and lasting for fifteen minutes or so. We tried sending scouts down the tunnels with radios, so we could hear them scream. That worked pretty well.”

“What happens if you’re caught by … get your hand off my knee!”

“It takes people different ways.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “There’s the screamers, the runners, the mutterers, and the silent sufferers. Most people faint after a minute or two. After the terror lifts, they recover completely in a few minutes.”

“No lasting side effects?” asked Angel.

“Well, they usually don’t want to go on an underground job again anytime soon,” admitted Beck, “and some of them switch into a less stressful way of life.”

“What category do you fall into?” asked Angel.

“Oh, I’m a mutterer,” said Beck. “I’ve been hit by the terror, I don’t know, probably a dozen times. The underground is just too good a deal to pass up if you want to do bank jobs or high-class burglaries. That’s a dozen times out of maybe a hundred times underground. The odds are pretty good.”

“Aren’t you being a little too casual about this?” asked Angel, suspiciously. “You’re such a show-off, Beck.”

Beck grimaced. “It’s really, really unpleasant, Angel. And you can get messed up if it hits you at the wrong time. A friend of mine lit a fuse once, just before the terror hit him. That was the last mistake he ever made. But a lot of people are afraid of being afraid. Me, I hate it, but I’m not afraid of it. You’re probably just the same.” He put his hand on her knee again. She ignored it.

“What about Dori?”

“Androids are immune. Hey, that’s right! Hadn’t thought of it that way. Deal us in, Angel. Come on, fifty-fifty. You need the backup, and you get two for the price of one.”

“I’m not paying fifty percent just to have you come and hold my hand,” she said, removing the aforementioned appendage from her knee.

“Aw, you know it’ll be more than that. It’s going to be dangerous. It always is. I’m good at this sort of thing, and we’ve always made a great team, Angel. And we need Dori, and don’t say that’s not worth something.”

“I’m paying fifteen percent to my informant. Anyway, I’m not sure there’s anything salable there at all.”

“We’ll work on spec,” he said smoothly. “If nothing happens, well, it’s a good training run for Dori.” He put his hand on Angel’s knee again.

“Damn it, Beck! Stop putting your hand on my knee! Dori’s right here and everything!”

“Don’t mind me,” said Dori, “Dorothy says you’re both such flirts that I should ignore everything before second base.”

There was a stunned silence. Angel felt her face grow hot and saw, to her amazement, that Beck was also blushing. Angel considered having a talk with Dorothy, who in her opinion was the worst person on earth to give relationship advice, but realized that she would never work up the courage.

After a moment, Beck reached both of his hands across the table.

Dori took his hands in hers matter-of-factly and said, “Angel, you shouldn’t go into the underground alone. Tell us what you’re willing to pay, and we’ll agree.”

“Dori!” said Beck.

“Thirty percent of the net,” said Angel firmly.

“Done,” said Dori.

Beck rolled his eyes.

They separated for a while to get ready. Angel drove to her apartment to pick up the appropriate gear: heavy work clothing, her pink leather jacket, sturdy steel-toed boots, leather gloves, and a miner’s hat with lamp. She also brought a small backpack full of tools and her pistol.

Beck picked her up a few minutes later. He apparently had just put a pair of coveralls over his suit and changed into a pair of work shoes. Dori was dressed in jeans (no surprise, she wore jeans whenever she could) a long-sleeved work shirt, and a pair of high-top canvas sneakers.

They got into Beck’s car and drove off to the point where Angel hoped to enter the underground. She checked her instructions on the way. “There’s an access stairway from this old hotel. It’s supposed to have a combination lock on it: 12-27-19. Write it down for Beck, Dori.”

“I’ll remember it,” said Dori.

“Write it down and make sure he puts it in his pocket. We might get separated or something, and he might have to use the door again.”

They arrived at the old Galaxy hotel and parked on the street. The building was partly occupied, but no one bothered them when they went inside. They found the stairs to the basement. Sure enough, a locked door with a built-in combination lock stood next to the main circuit breaker panels. It opened easily enough to the combination. A set of concrete stairs led down.

Angel flipped a switch at the top of the stairs. Lights came on. “Well, that’s convenient,” she said. Before going down the stairs, she chalked a pair of wings with a halo above them, added the date and time, and an arrow pointing down the stairs.

They went down two flights of stairs and found themselves in a tunnel about eight feet high. Large-diameter electrical conduits and bundles of telephone cable were attached to the walls. After a while, they found a steel ladder that plunged down into darkness, along with some electrical conduits. Angel checked her notes. “This is the way,” she said. Before going down the stairs, she drew another stylized angel and an arrow pointing down the ladder. Then she turned on the light on her miner’s helmet and descended.

They found themselves in a subway tunnel, double-tracked for three-rail electric subway trains. There were no overhead lights. Angel checked her notes and her compass (she didn’t trust her sense of direction underground), then chalked an angel on the wall and led the way.

“Watch out for the rails, Dori,” advised Angel. “The middle rail has high voltage to run electric trains.”

“No it doesn’t,” said Dori. “It’s completely disconnected.”

“Well, it might get turned back on at any time, so stay away from it.”

After a couple of hundred yards, she said, “This is it.” The rails sagged across a crater in the floor.

They inspected it for a moment, then Angel said, “What do you think, Beck?”

Beck said, “The right-hand side looks like the best approach. Let’s use a rope just to make sure.”

Angel nodded. They tied off a rope to a railroad tie, well away from the third rail. Angel chalked yet another symbol on the wall, with an arrow pointing down. “I’ll go first, shall I?” asked Angel. “This is my show, after all.”

“You’re the boss,” agreed Beck.

It was an easy descent. Soon Angel was on the floor of a vast, dark, hemispherical chamber, with walls of what looked like tarnished copper.

“You next, Dori,” said Beck.

Dori moved nimbly down the slope, one hand on the rope. She took a different path, and at one point stepped onto the edge of a broken concrete slab, which suddenly tilted and pitched her downslope. A minor landslide was followed by a loud groaning noise, then part of the roof fell in. Dori narrowly missed being buried, got to her feet, and raced towards Angel.

The cave-in ended as quickly as it had begun. Enormous clouds of choking dust obscured their vision, but it seemed as if there was no longer any way to get back up to the subway. Angel held her handkerchief to her face and cursed.

“Damn it! This is all we need.”

“Jason,” said Dori in a flat voice.

“I’m sure he’s all right,” said Angel. “He was well back.”

They tried shouting, but there was no answer.

Angel pressed the crystal on her watch hard. “Norman? Roger?” There was no response. She looked closely at the watch. It seemed dead, even its hands almost invisible. Roger had told her that was how it looked when it had lost all signal. “Great,” she said in disgust.

“Jason.”

“Are you all right, Dori?”

“Shhh.”

Angel held very still. Then she almost jumped out of her skin when a loud clonking sound happened about a hundred feet to her rear. This was followed by the sound of … “That’s the elevator!” she said.

“Shhh.”

Then Angel heard the other sound. Faintly, she heard a sound that could only be that of Beck hitting the railroad track very hard with a stone. Three taps, then a pause, then three taps.

Angel picked up a large piece of rubble and went to the intact part of the dome next to the cave in. She clonked the stone against the wall very hard, three times. It made a better noise than she had expected.

The rhythm of Beck’s tapping changed. Morse code. Angel swore under her breath. She had never learned it.

“R … U … O .. K.” said Dori. She picked up a stone and pounded on the wall. “O … K”

There was a pause, then “I … L … L … space … G … E … T … space … H … E … L … P. ‘Ill get help’”? She considered. “Oh! ‘I will get help.’” She pounded on the wall again. “O … K.”

A final “B … Y … E” from Beck, and there was silence.

*  *  *

Beck hurried back to the surface. He was glad that Angel had chalked the symbols on the walls, because he was frazzled by the turn of events and might conceivably have made a wrong turn. But he made his way back without mishap.

He emerged from the hotel and was crossing to his car when his path was blocked by a fat, middle-aged man with a hand in his coat pocket. Presumably, he was holding a gun on Beck.

Beck cursed inwardly but managed to smile. “Hey, Frank, long time no see,” he said. “What can I …” His knees buckled. Frank caught him as he sagged to the ground. A skinny old man put away his blackjack with a smug smile on his face.

“Nice work, Harry,” said Frank. “Help me get him to the car.”

They manhandled Beck’s semiconscious form to their car. They tossed him into the back seat and drove off.

*  *  *

Norman finished programming the track-laying machine. “It will go almost to the crater and pull up the track and ties back to where we will start the new tunnel,” he told Dorothy. “Meanwhile, we will drive the new tunnel with the digging machine.” The digging machine was an enormous cylinder with a drill at the front and a conveyor at the back. Yet more machines took the rubble from the conveyor and sent it off for disposal.

“Where will we put the rubble?” asked Dorothy.

“We will fill up the tunnel we are abandoning,” said Norman.

*  *  *

Angel and Dori moved carefully to the far side of the dome, where the dust wasn’t so bad. Angel wiped her face with her handkerchief and took a drink of water. She offered her handkerchief and canteen to Dori, who dabbed carefully at her eyes.

Dori said, “It’s convenient not having to breathe, but my eyes don’t like the dust.”

“Does it hurt?” asked Angel.

“Yes,” said Dori. “My pain response is different from yours. I won’t writhe or scream or anything, no matter how badly hurt I am, but I hate the way it feels.”

“I can’t ask these questions of Dorothy.”

“Personal questions bother her. She'll answer if it's a practical question, but if you ask her about her feelings, she’ll snap at you.”

"But not you," said Angel.

"I was like that when Jason awakened me," confided Dori, "but it was hard on us. So I learned to be open and trusting."

"With Beck?" asked Angel, incredulously.

"Especially with Jason. That's one way Dorothy and I are different."

“I don’t even know if she likes me,” Angel said mournfully.

The elevator arrived again, with a big clonking sound. Angel jumped. “Let’s take a look at that elevator,” she said. “The noise is driving me crazy.”

They went over to the elevator, which was partly blocked by the cave-in. Ten minutes later they had cleared the rubble from in front of the doors. The obstruction turned out to be a piece of copper sheet that had once been part of the dome’s inner wall, but had ended up wedged between the doors. It stuck into the elevator shaft for a couple of feet, and apparently hit some kind of sensor on the elevator car, which caused it to back off and try again. When they removed the obstruction. The elevator car arrived, a bell was heard, and the doors opened smoothly. There was a light inside the elevator car. It looked awfully inviting.

“No, no, no!” said Angel. “We should stay here. First rule of rescue work. The victims shouldn’t go wandering off.” She leaned into the car and pulled the “OPEN DOOR” knob. The floor buttons were labeled “B1” to “B10.” The “B1” button was lit.

Dori said, “Do you think there’s a way up to the surface?”

“Probably not. There usually isn’t. Maybe. Let’s look around. After all, that’s what we’re here for.”

They did a careful search and found absolutely nothing. Whatever the dome had been used for in the past, it had been completely stripped. The elevator seemed to be the only exit. There was just a hint of old tunnels; semicircular patches of copper paneling at floor level that had tarnished to a different color than the rest. But the walls there were just as solid as everywhere else. There were no lights, no control panels; not even an abandoned packing crate.

Angel sat down on the floor, exhausted. Dori was restless. “I need something to do,” she complained. “I worry about Jason if I’m not doing anything.”

“I thought you were fine for hours,” said Angel.

“Normally. This is different.”

“Count the bricks in the wall,” said Angel tiredly.

“It has to be something real or it doesn’t help.”

*  *  *

“All right, all right!” shouted Beck. “I’m in! I’ll do it! Just take these damned cuffs off me so we can shake on it!”

He was still in the back seat of the car. The old guy, Harry, took the cuffs off him and they shook hands. At the next red light, Frank turned in the driver’s seat and shook hand with Beck as well.

There was a general relaxation.

“Sorry to put you through this, Beck,” said Harry, “but you’d gone straight and ratted on some guys.”

“They weren’t crooks, they were revolutionaries!” protested Beck. “It doesn’t count!”

“Yeah, yeah. What do you need for the job?”

Beck grinned. “You won’t believe it. I need one sheet of fine sandpaper and a really good stethoscope. A Mackland, for preference.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep. Those Burleigh safes are supposed to be the best, but there’s a flaw in the lock design. But I’m the only one who knows how to open them.” He paused for a moment, and then, by way of life insurance, said, “Hey! After the job, give me a call and I can arrange to train some of your boys. I’m not really in the biz anymore, after all. There’s only, I dunno, twenty or thirty Burleigh safes in Paradigm, but they’re all in really prime locations.”

“You’ll do this out of the goodness of your heart?” asked Frank dubiously.

“There’ll be a fee, unless you want to owe me a big favor, Frank old pal. But I don’t want a cut from the jobs because it might be traced.”

Frank considered this and nodded. “Sounds good.”

“So when’s the job?” asked Beck. “I’ve got appointments. People will start looking for me.”

“Midnight.”

Beck rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. It would have to do.

*  *  *

The enormous drill inched its way forward. Although there were a few tiny windows, there was nothing to see. Norman and Dorothy kept their eyes on the video screens. Every twenty feet, a rubble carrier detached itself and crawled on caterpillar treads to a waiting train and loaded a car. The track-laying machinery had already pulled up the old track and was waiting down another spur line. When the drill was removed, the new line would be laid in a couple of hours.

When all the cars in the rubble train were full, it headed down the line to dump its contents into the old tunnel.

*  *  *

Angel woke suddenly to a loud rumbling sound. “Must’ve dozed off,” she muttered.

Distant noises and vibrations were heard above them.

“That can’t be a rescue attempt,” said Angel. “Even Roger doesn’t make that kind of unnecessary noise.”

“Maybe it’s Big O and the Prairie Dog,” said Dori.

“Oh, great, just what we need, Big O derailed right on top of us,” groaned Angel.

The rumbling continued, interspersed with hammering and the sounds of groaning metal. The landslide resumed intermittently and threatened to smash the elevator.

Angel jumped to her feet. “I don’t like this!” she said. “Whatever’s happening, it’s not helping. Let’s get out of here while we still can!”

They raced to the elevator. Angel pushed the “DOOR OPEN” knob back in and pressed the “DOOR CLOSE” button with one hand, while stabbing the “B2” button repeatedly with the other. The doors closed. There was an enormous crash. A spray of dust and gravel burst in through the crack between the doors. Then the elevator began to descend.

*  *  *

Roger walked into the dining room. Dinner was late—not because of the tunneling work, which had been completed on time, but because he had been detained downtown. “Where’s Angel?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Master Roger,” said Norman. “She hasn’t returned and has not called.”

“That’s not like her. Maybe she’s with Beck and Dori.”

“I telephoned, sir, and there was no answer. Mr. Beck has not called his answering service since before lunch. Also, there is no signal from Miss Angel’s watch. None at all.”

“Did you trace it?”

“No, sir. As you’ll recall, she demanded that her watch only be traceable when activated by her. It is otherwise very hard to pinpoint.”

“Damn it, Norman! You actually did what she asked?”

“I do not lie to Miss Angel, sir.”

Roger sighed. “Has this ever happened before?”

“No, sir. She is sometimes as much as fifteen minutes late for supper, but other than that she has always called. Because your business kept you late, we are serving forty-five minutes late tonight, but she does not know that. And her watch has not been out of range at all for weeks.”

“What about Beck and Dori?” asked Dorothy.

“There is no way for us to locate them. Mr. Beck is less consistent than Miss Angel, but he has instructed his answering service to let us know when he last checked in, as a safety measure. Mr. Beck is very erratic in his daily routine, but he almost always calls his answering service at least once during the afternoon. He has not done so today.”

“So you think they’re together, and they’re in trouble,” said Roger.

“Yes, sir.”

Dorothy rose. “I will ask Big O if he can sense them. If that doesn’t work, perhaps Big B can.” She departed.

Roger looked enquiringly at Norman. “Do we know where Big B is?”

“No, sir.”

Roger looked at his fine meal discontentedly. His appetite had vanished. “Well, no doubt Dorothy will tell me her secret when she’s ready.”

*  *  *

The elevator door opened, revealing a curved, high-ceilinged corridor that was strangely lit.

“This looks new,” said Dori.

“The further down you go, the newer everything looks,” said Angel. She marked an angel on the wall and asked, “Which way?”

Dori immediately pointed to the left.

Angel was startled. “Why?”

“There’s something bad in the other direction.”

Angel drew an arrow pointing to the left and asked, “How do you know?”

“I just have a feeling. And don’t look at me like that. Sometimes I just know things.”

Angel said, “What I meant was, if it were a Megadeus or something, wouldn’t you know which senses were telling you it was there?”

“Oh, yes. This isn’t like that. It’s a premonition.” She looked at Angel’s expression. “You’re doing it again.”

“Sorry.” Dori? Premonitions?

Dori rolled her eyes. “Go ahead and ask.”

“I might as well,” said Angel. “My, you’re in a talkative mood today! Tell me about these premonitions.”

“It’s my last gasp,” said Dori cryptically . “Dorothy has premonitions, too. We don’t know where they come from. They’re not always accurate. Usually, though.”

“What premonitions does she have?” asked Angel.

“She says the strongest one is that …” she stopped.

“Go on.”

“It’s about you. Maybe you don’t want to hear it.”

“Oh.” Angel considered this. Then, smiling artificially, she said brightly, “Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

They walked in silence for a while, then Dori asked, “Angel, what happened forty years ago?”

“Why do you think I know?”

“Roger said you did.”

“I don’t like talking about it.”

“Please? I think it’s important,” said Dori.

Angel smiled, “Another premonition?” she said archly.

“Yes,” Dori said, seriously.

Angel stopped walking and considered. “Well, you know how one day follows another, and you know deep down that yesterday was pretty much like today, and this was true even before you were born?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s true most days, but not every day. There was a discontinuity in history, Dori. The day before people woke up without their memories was a lot more different than they imagine. People lived different lives, had different occupations. The world was different. It was all rearranged, and people’s memories were taken to conceal the discontinuity.”

“But why?”

Angel sighed. “There’s something about our world that’s broken. Its continuity has been damaged. Cause and effect don’t work all the time. It’s like a house of cards that has to be rebuilt when the wind blows it over.”

“How could such a thing happen?”

Angel tried to remember. “There was a war. And it had something to do with Megadeuses, and a terrible new weapon. And then suddenly there wasn’t enough … reality? history? continuity? to go around. And when the house of cards fell over, a handful of people in a certain … place? could deal them out again and build a new one.”

Dori protested, “That sounds horrible!”

Angel smiled. “A lot of people think it sounds _wonderful_. Just think, playing God with the lives of everyone in the world. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“It sounds even worse when you put it that way.”

Impulsively, Angel hugged Dori. “There’s a great shortage of sensible people in the world, Dori. Remember that.”

She sighed and continued. “It was all just a stopgap to keep things from falling apart altogether. We were going to fix the world, put it back the way it was.”

“We?”

“Sort of. Not me, exactly, but mostly. And others. Probably I was as much me as you are the human Dorothy.”

Angel considered. “It kept going wrong. I remember … it was harder than it should have been. The discontinuities affected us, too. We couldn’t remember very well across them. We kept making the same mistakes. And once you’d made the same mistake a couple of times in a row, it became ingrained, almost inevitable. It was horrible! And there were side effects, too. Memories of what we were doing kept leaking into the minds of other people, and they felt this terrible compulsion to play god. Sometimes that affected us as well. We lost sight of our task, sometimes.”

Angel lapsed into silence, trying to remember. Here, underground, with Dori, her memory was far clearer than it was up on the surface. Usually, she could remember nothing about her time as one of the Directors. There was something she ought to be able to remember about that, too. She groped for a long time after the memory, but it eluded her. Finally, she gave up.

As soon as she stopped straining after the memory, an image floated into her mind. She was sitting on the couch in Roger’s apartment, having this same conversation with the human Dorothy. The sun was streaming through the open windows and the smell of spring was in the air. Angel’s eyes filled with tears.

“Well, this isn’t getting us back home,” she said. Let’s get moving … Dori?”

Dori was staring blankly at the wall.

“Dori!”

Dori turned her head slowly, mechanically. “An … gel.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ja … son.”

“Are you all right?”

“… No.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me, then.”

Angel continued down the corridor, moving slowly at first, but soon realizing that, whatever was wrong with Dori, her walking wasn’t impaired, and she set a brisk pace.

Soon they came to the first of the bodies.

*  *  *

Dorothy returned. “Roger, we need to leave right away.”

Roger stood up. “What’s this about?”

“Big B told Big O that Beck has a locator watch similar to ours. It has been removed from his wrist, but it has been continuing to move around.”

Roger said, “Anyone who got his hands on Beck would strip him of his personal effects, because all of them are likely to be gadgets.”

“Yes,” said Dorothy. “But since the watch is still moving, they are likely all moving together. I will pick up a second watch from Big B’s cockpit.”

Roger raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Big B and I are on friendly terms,” she said with a trace of sarcasm. “Isn’t that nice.”

*  *  *

It was only the first body. Hardly more than a skeleton, it wore an unfamiliar gray uniform. They soon found more. The walls were blackened and pitted in places where weapons had struck them.

They reached a crossroads in the corridor. The two side passages were narrower and had doors opening off them. It must have been a block of offices, because desks and filing cabinets had been piled in the main corridor to form a barricade, now broken.

At the barricade, they found the first of many bodies in red uniforms. For another hundred yards, gray and red were found in roughly equal numbers. Beyond that, only the occasional red-clad body was found, where a wounded man had crawled off to die.

They reached another hemispherical chamber. This one was well-illuminated and contained a great deal of machinery. A Megadeus sagged as if crucified from the arms of an enormous gantry.

“No!” said Dori suddenly. “You cannot see me! I am not here!” Several red lights in her hairband were blinking furiously.

Angel jumped nearly out of her skin, but the Megadeus did not move. It had been terribly damaged. She could actually see all the way through its torso where something had burned through it. Its armor was rent and pitted, and only a fraction of its mask remained. One leg had been burned through at the knee, and lay on the floor.

“Dori, is this one of the sane ones?”

“No!” said Dori. “No!”

Angel took Dori’s hand and ran back down the corridor.

*  *  *

Beck looked his tools over. He had added magnets to his wish list at the last moment, to stick the stethoscope onto the safe with a minimum of fuss. He was in a hotel room and was testing the holding power of the magnet against the side of the bathroom medicine cabinet. Perfect.

“Okay, gents, I’m ready,” he said. He put his tools carefully into the small briefcase that Frank had provided. He hated having his suit pockets bulge with tools. He winked at his reflection in the mirror. This was going to be fun.

Harry and Frank escorted him downstairs. They were a little nervous, as most crooks are before any job. They went out to the car and got in, with Beck and Harry in the back as before. Frank started the engine, turned the wheel, and made to pull out of the parking space, but the car didn’t move. He revved the engine, but nothing happened. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he saw a petite redheaded woman standing directly behind the car.

Perplexed, he looked around and saw several policemen approaching.

Beck said, “Gotta run, fellas. Sorry!” and got out of the car in a hurry. He slammed the door and said, “Let ‘em go, Dorothy!”

Dorothy dropped the rear bumper of the car. When the wheels hit the ground, the car peeled out in a thick cloud of burning rubber, barely missing one of the cops. A moment later, it was gone. The cops pursued.

Roger stopped lounging against the wall of the hotel and walked up to Beck. “Where are Angel and Dori?” he asked.

“We were helping Angel check out a site underground where she was fishing for memories,” said Beck, “and there was a minor cave-in that left them stuck but okay. I got nabbed when I was on my way back for help. They wanted me to open a safe for them. I couldn’t say no, since they were gonna kill me if I did.”

“We’d better get Angel and Dori out right away,” said Roger.

“You’ve got that right,” said Beck. “Dori will be going nuts by now, and Angel isn’t going to be in a good mood, either. We’ll want some equipment.”

“Where is all this?” asked Roger.

“In the subway near the East Side Dome.”

Beck had never heard Dorothy shriek before. He prayed he would never hear it again.

*  *  *

Angel didn’t know what to do. The two cross-corridors turned out to be dead ends; administrative adjuncts to the Megadeus hangar, no doubt. The Megadeus hangar would certainly have some kind of access to the surface, though likely long disused and possibly blocked. Taking the elevator up to level B1 was obviously not an option, and going even further down struck her as being reckless. How much faith to put in Dori’s premonition?

She decided in the end that Dori had chosen the wrong direction. They retraced their steps. Angel updated her chalked markers with the new time and new direction, without effacing the old ones.

After about fifteen minutes they reached another chamber. This one was also designed to house a Megadeus, but none could be seen. They were on a level halfway up the dome. At the base were several large tunnels going in different directions. Angel was reminded of Roger’s Prairie Dog transport system for Big O, though there were no tracks.

Angel hurried across the floor to where she expected to find an elevator. There it was! She pressed the “UP” button, which lit immediately. The indicator dial above the elevator began to descend.

Beneath her, there was a distant rumble.

“Come on, come on!” Angel said to the elevator. The distant rumble came closer.

The elevator door opened. Angel dragged Dori inside and pressed the top button. The doors began to close, but not before an enormous wheeled vehicle slid into the chamber. It was easily as large as Big O’s Prairie Dog.

The elevator started upwards. “Hurry! Hurry!” she screamed at it.

“Big Ramses,” said Dori, her voice blurred with a robotic buzz. “He cannot see me, but he knows I am close.”

Angel looked at her watch. Were the hands glowing a little brighter now? She jammed the crystal down with her thumb. “Roger, for god’s sake get a fix on me. There’s a Megadeus pursuing Dori. Do you hear me?”

The elevator reached the top floor and its door opened. Surprisingly, they were in a perfectly ordinary-looking warehouse, with rows of metal drums stacked high. Forklifts could be seen moving in the distance.

Angel grabbed Dori’s hand and they began to run. When Angel looked back, she saw only a blank wall where the elevator had been. They kept running.

Angel’s watch beeped, then Norman’s voice could be heard. “Miss Angel, Big O will be there in approximately two minutes.”

Two minutes! Damn! Angel didn’t complain; she was saving her breath for running. Every step they took away from the elevator would make it that much harder for Big Ramses to pinpoint Dori.

She heard a roar as Big Ramses burst through the ground a couple of blocks away.

He was a gray Megadeus, ugly and lacking the usual ornamentation. He was extravagantly armored—even more heavily armored than Big O. He bristled with secondary armament; heavy machine guns or light cannon—things no ordinary Megadeus would carry at all.

Angel turned the corner and hoped that Big Ramses hadn't recognized them. Surely he had no idea what Dori looked like!

Big Ramses stood motionless for a moment, then uttered a bone-jarring cry. Dori suddenly froze, then turned around and started walking the other way.

“Dori, no!” screamed Angel. “No, you can’t!” She tried to stop Dori, but Dori was so much stronger that this had little effect. “Please, Dori!” she begged, “Listen to me! That thing isn’t your friend, I am! I’m Angel, remember? And you’re Dori Wayneright!”

Dori hesitated. “An-gel,” she said in a robotic monotone.

“Turn around, Dori, please!” pleaded Angel, weeping. “Roger will be here in a minute. Don’t let that thing ensnare you! You’ve got to stay away from it, you’ve got to stay free for Beck!”

“Ja-son.”

“Come on, let’s run some more,” said Angel, pulling hard at Dori’s hand. “We need to put some more distance between us and that Megadeus.”

“Jason is coming,” said Dori.

Angel decided to play along. “That’s right, but let’s wait somewhere a little further away, okay?”

“Okay,” said Dori in her normal voice. “This way. Thirty seconds.” She pelted off in a new direction, and Angel hurried after her.

*  *  *

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY

“Big O! Action!” shouted Roger. Big O charged towards Angel’s location.

“Big Ramses,” said Dorothy calmly as the other Megadeus came into view.

“Look at the armor on that thing!” said Roger. “Weak points?”

“None to speak of,” reported Dorothy. “There is no pilot. No android. Core memory … intact. This is one of the crazy ones. It is skilled at self-piloting.”

“Chromebuster!” called Roger. Big O took up a firing stance and fired at Big Ramses’ head. When he switched off the beam, he saw that Big Ramses had thrown his right arm in front of his face, and it was now glowing red-hot. Part of Big Ramses’ mask had also slagged down.

Suddenly, Big Ramses’ torso opened and revealed rows of missiles. “Counter-measures!” called Roger as he raised Big O’s forearms protectively.

There was the familiar bang as the chaff charges went off, enveloping Big O with a cloud of little pieces of radar- and heat-reflecting foil, not to mention a huge cloud of smoke to obscure visual tracking. Of the twenty-four missiles, only four went home, and did nothing more than vaporize a few tons of Big O’s forearm armor.

“Big O Thunder!” called Roger. One of Big O’s arms transformed to reveal a Gatling-style plasma gun. Big O stepped forward out of the smoke. “Wait!”

Big B had just arrived and was hurtling towards Big Ramses, brandishing his plasma lance. Roger had learned something of Beck’s tactics by now. “Chromebuster!” he called.

Once again he fired the chromebuster at Big Ramses’ head. When Big Ramses raised his left arm to protect his head from the beam, Big B drove the plasma lance deep into his side. The instant Roger turned off the chromebuster, Big B fired his left-hand cannon directly into the red-hot section of Big Ramses’ head. There was an enormous explosion and Big Ramses staggered back.

“Core memory still intact,” reported Dorothy.

Roger allowed Big O to surge forward. Big O was eager to come to grips. Big Ramses regained his balance and grabbed Big B, attempting to lift him off the ground. Big B jammed his knee into Big Ramses’ crotch, and Beck fired the shaped charge he’d planted in the knee for just such an occasion. Big Ramses and Big B were hurled apart. Big B kept his balance, but Big Ramses fell onto his back.

He was up again as Big O came within reach. The explosion had wreaked horrible damage. Flame was spurting out of Big Ramses’ torso at the joints for arms, legs, and neck. Big O waded in and hammered Big Ramses in chest and head, using the arm pistons to deliver enormous, smashing blows.

In the meantime, Big Ramses had transformed his left arm. “Shock vortex,” reported Dorothy. Big O was too close, so Big Ramses fired past him at Big B. A ring of blinding silver light shot out of the end of his arm and enveloped Big B in silvery lightning that went on and on. Big B became suddenly rigid and toppled onto his side.

The explosions inside Big Ramses’ body became more intense. Roger retreated with some difficulty, as Big O did not want to disengage. “Big O Thunder!” he warned, and played gouts of plasma fire over Big Ramses’ stricken body. Soon Big Ramses toppled to the ground. After a moment, he stopped moving. Roger ceased fire and watched the Megadeus burn.

After a moment he turned and looked at Big B, which was still lying motionless on his side. “Is Big B okay?”

Dorothy replied, “The shock vortex dissipated a few seconds ago. Big B will regain full function within minutes. Beck, Dori, and Angel are unharmed.”

“Put through a call.”

“On screen.”

Roger grinned at the image. Beck was strapped into the command seat and didn’t seem too uncomfortable in his sideways position, and Dori looked—Roger blinked—joyful, for some reason, perched gracefully on the side of the cockpit. Angel was sitting on the wall-turned-floor and looked thoroughly discontented.

Roger asked, “So how do you like being a passenger in a Megadeus cockpit, Angel?”

“I’ve had better rides at demolition derbies, thank you very much, Roger Smith,” she replied. “That fall practically homogenized me. Somebody ought to teach Beck how to drive one of these things.”

Beck interjected, “I’ve got partial function back. Would you give me a hand up, Roger old pal? It’ll save time, and we want to get these ladies home. They’ve had a hard day.”

Roger grinned and urged Big O over to where Big B was lying. He hauled Big B to his feet, enjoying the spectacle of Angel cursing and flailing around as the cockpit shook and shifted.

“Remind me to add a couple of passenger seats to the cockpit,” he said to Dorothy.

“And a wet bar,” said Angel, who had heard, since Roger hadn’t closed the connection. “And a bathroom. And barf bags. Lots of barf bags. Not that I’m complaining, Beck, but if you can’t make this thing move more smoothly, you’re going to have one hell of a clean-up job before we get home.”

“I’ll order them in pink,” said Beck, grinning, “and you should go home with Roger anyway, since the location of my hangar is a secret.”

Angel dug the steno pad from her purse and scribbled something on it, then handed it to Beck. He rolled his eyes. “Roger, old friend, Angel’s coming with me to my” he glared at Angel, “ _secret hideout.”_

“We’ll meet you there after we put Big O away,” said Roger.

Beck threw his arms in the air. “That’s right, make fun of poor old Beck! I might as well buy a neon sign, is that it? Look, be a sport and invite me over for dinner, Roger old buddy. Dori wants hugs all around, and I _really_ don’t want you guys driving up to my hideout.”

“Again,” said Roger. He laughed when he saw the look on Beck’s face. “Beck, I would be obliged if you and Dori would do us the honor of dining with us tonight. Oh, and drag Angel along, too.”

“Be nice to Angel,” said Dori.

“Sorry, Dori. Angel, could you see your way clear to gracing us with your presence?”

“Well, considering that I live there, I suppose I can put up with the inconvenience, just this once” said Angel generously.

Roger, smiling, turned Big O towards home.

**[No Side]**


	6. Act 31: Materia Medica

**Act 32: Materia Medica**

Roger started the car and looked over at Dorothy in the passenger seat. “Just like old times,” he said, smiling at her.

She looked straight ahead and said, simply, “Yes.”

Roger was not fooled. She was happy. Happy to be alone with him, assisting him on a visit to a new client. Roger hadn’t asked her to accompany him for some time, since she had been so busy with Dori. Maybe he should have asked her sooner.

They drove out onto the street and waited for the new traffic light to change. Dastun has put in a number of new traffic lights in the neighborhood and posted some extra cops as well, to make it possible to clear traffic to make way for Big O if he left the building through the immense new street-level doors. One cop was permanently on duty near the giant doors, and one was near the front door. He wasn’t actually on the steps or anything, but he saw everyone who came in or out. There had been some trouble with nut cases. Roger had been briefly annoyed, then had given in. He lived on the ninth floor, after all.

In fact, he had given over some of the old offices on the ground floor to the police. They now had a couple of offices, a break room, and a bathroom of their own. Norman made sure they were well provisioned, though he also kept a close eye on them to prevent them from rifling through files or bugging the phone system. Cops will be cops. But Dastun picked good men for this duty, and there had been no trouble. Quite the reverse. It was pleasant having these respectful, competent men around. They had made a pet of Dori, who visited them almost every day.

They drove in silence for a while, then Roger asked, “Do you think we made a mistake, leaving Dastun all alone with Angel?”

“Beck and Dori will be there.”

“Poor Dastun.”

It was Norman’s night off. Dastun had a date with Angel. They were going to dine at the mansion and then go out on the town. Beck was cooking. Roger had taken to inviting Beck over to the mansion for dinner. It pleased Dori, and Dori had Roger wrapped around her little finger. Beck liked to cook and was much less abrasive when he had a challenge, such as an ambitious meal, to distract him. He had been a little put out when Roger had received a call from a new client who wanted to meet with him that evening. No doubt he would take it out on Dastun.

Dorothy asked, “Who is the client?”

“A man named Amos Greenlake. I’ve never met him.”

“I have. If it’s the same man. He was a friend of my father’s.”

“What do you know about him?”

Dorothy considered. “He’s old. In his mid-eighties, I believe. He is a gerontologist.”

“What’s a gerontologist?”

“He specializes in the diseases of old people.”

Roger smiled. “That’s convenient.”

“What does he want us to negotiate?”

“He didn’t say.”

*  *  *

Dastun’s car pulled up at 7:29. He pressed the front doorbell at 7:30 exactly.

Dori opened the door and flung herself around his neck. Dastun knew better than to dodge or struggle. She was an incorrigible hugger. Resistance was futile. She was stronger, faster, and heavier than he was. His aide, Lt. Sorenson, looked on, grinning. Dastun blushed.

“Give Sorenson a hug, while you’re at it,” he suggested callously, hoping to escape his fate by throwing her a Lieutenant.

She did not let go. “I can’t. Not until he’s been approved by one of my advisors.”

“And who are they?”

“Jason, Dorothy, and Norman,” she replied. “Roger refused to serve. Angel has been struck off the list in disgrace.”

Dastun grinned. “You can let go now.”

She did so, and turned to Lt. Sorenson again. “Dinner is in half an hour, Lieutenant. We’ll be sending some food down to the break room.”

He smiled at her. “Thank you, miss.”

She led Dastun inside. As they waited for the elevator—Dori had used the stairs coming down—she asked, “Did you hear that Roger and Dorothy have been called away?”

“Yes. That’s okay. I can get along with Beck. I just wish I knew what Angel had in mind for tonight. She didn’t say anything.”

“She said she just wants you to show her the town, have a few laughs, and then take her to bed.”

Dastun froze. He could feel himself blushing again.

Dori noticed and turned away from him suddenly. “I’m sorry. I said something wrong.”

“It’s all right,” he managed.

“No,” she said, still not looking at him. “It’s not. I say the wrong thing all the time.”

He raised a hand to pat her shoulder, then changed his mind and lowered it again.

The elevator arrived. Dori made no move to enter it.

“Dan, will you tell me which mistake I made? Was I vulgar? Did I say something that is only ever implied? Did I ruin a surprise? Did I deny you the initiative? Did I use girl talk in front of guys?”

“Yes,” said Dastun, suddenly smiling again.

 _“All_ of them?” Dori turned around and looked at him wide-eyed.

“Yep.”

Dori opened the inner door of the elevator car and stepped in. Dastun followed, and she closed the inner door again. She pressed the button for the eighth floor. The elevator began to rise.

After a moment, Dori said, “Don’t mind me. My brain isn’t broken in yet.”

“You’re just fine, Dori,” he said. “Don’t worry about a thing. If you grow out of this frankness, I’ll miss it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He braced himself. Sure enough, she gave him a hug that made his ribs creak. Fortunately, the elevator arrived on the eighth floor, and she let go. She stepped out of the elevator and he staggered after her.

*  *  *

Amos Greenlake lived in a small but charming house in a well-to-do district. The door was answered by a nurse in a white uniform, who led them into Greenlake’s office, an incredibly cluttered room with heaps of books and paper everywhere.

Greenlake was a wizened little man, totally bald and heavily wrinkled. He stood shakily and shook hands tremblingly with Roger and then Dorothy.

“We have already met, Miss Wayneright. Please let me give you my belated condolences for the loss of your father.”

“Thank you,” said Dorothy.

“And now you’re assisting this young man.”

“Yes.”

Greenlake looked around for chairs to offer them, but they were completely filled with books and papers.

“It’s all right,” said Dorothy. “We’ll stand.”

Greenlake sank into his chair. “I don’t get many visitors these days,” he said. He collected his thoughts for a few seconds, then said, “Mr. Smith, I have a multi-way negotiating task I would like you to undertake. I was involved with an inappropriate use of medical research funded by the Paradigm Corporation. Times have changed, and it is now time for the project to be shut down. It involved materials that are quite dangerous. Some of them are infectious. These should be destroyed. Some of the research was highly immoral and dangerous. Some of the records should no doubt be destroyed as well.”

Roger asked, “What kind of research?”

“Originally, the goal was to seek immortality. The basic mechanism seemed straightforward enough. Most of the cells in our body do not last a lifetime, but are replaced several times over. As we age, the cells become less capable, and we grow old. There is a mechanism in every cell, like a calendar, that tells it how old it is. Old cells eventually give up and die.

“Now, this is not true in all species, or even with all cells in our own bodies. A baby is created from cells from its parent, but its calendar is reset. Otherwise, it would be born with cells that thought they were the same age as the parents, and babies would grow old and die at the same time as their parents. Life could not exist.

“So, if only we could find a mechanism to reset the calendar in every cell in the body—not too early, but, say, to our mid-twenties, when our bodies are done growing but are still young—then we could achieve immortality. In theory, it is as easy as that.”

Roger asked, “Did it work?”

“So far, progress has been painfully slow. My friend Timothy Wayneright far outstripped me in his immortality research, where he proposed to copy human minds into android brains, recapturing the personality of the original. And, incidentally, preserving the mind in a digital format that could be archived forever—on a disc, for instance. He also hoped to achieve the reverse transformation and copy the digital recording back into a young human brain.”

Dorothy said, “But my father’s experiments were unsuccessful.”

Greenlake smiled and said, “Why do you think so, my dear?”

“Because Father wanted me to act like the real Dorothy, and I didn’t. Not naturally. I had to learn the part by rote.”

Greenlake said, “I knew young Dorothy, forty years ago—forty-one, now. How would you describe her?” he asked Dorothy.

Dorothy considered. “Father insisted that she was cheerful and vivacious. A little flirtatious, but also a little shy and rather dependent.”

“Yes, that is how he described her to me as well, in his last years,” said Greenlake. “Of course, at the time, he had not seen her in almost forty years, nor had I, for that matter, but that was how he saw her, in his mind’s eye. Tell me, how do you truly see her in yours?”

Dorothy considered this for a long time. Suddenly her eyes locked on Greenlake’s in an intent gaze.

“Yes,” he said. “I see you understand.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t mention it.”

Roger, who had not understood a word, said, “Perhaps we can get back to business?”

“Yes, of course,” said Greenlake briskly. “Where was I? Ah, yes. The way to invade every cell in the body and alter it is through something rather like a virus. The properties are, in theory, just what we need, but obtaining the desired effect is not easy. Far too much trial and error is required for what ought to be a simple process. So far, I have not found a technique that achieves my goals. However, other goals _were_ served by the same processes. Eugene Grant found it relatively easy to use the technique to change the DNA in living creatures, causing them to change their form, though he was sloppy and incompetent at making the process self-terminating. The transition was generally followed by undesirable self-mutation.” He stopped.

Roger prompted, “And what about your research, sir?”

“Ah. It was a simple concept with profound medical implications. The cells in our body are quite insistent on operating at full speed all the time. If they could shut themselves down—go into hibernation—if, for example, the level of oxygen was too low for them to function, then a great deal of misery could be eliminated. Someone who lost an arm in an accident could have it reattached days later, without loss of function. Heart attack victims could be revived, almost uninjured, hours or days—weeks, with proper refrigeration—after their hearts stopped beating. The number of lives that would be saved would be simply incalculable.”

Roger asked, “That sounds promising.”

Greenlake nodded, “It’s a wonderful technology. Of course, under Paradigm funding it all went wrong. They saw potential in it that had never occurred to me. I am a doctor. The concept that people in suspended animation might be easier to interrogate than live suspects had occurred to me.”

Roger bristled, “They did that?”

“Oh, yes. It was an offshoot of Dr. Wayneright’s work. A quiescent brain can be recorded more accurately than an active one. Less interference. His best work came from recordings made when the subject was in a profound sleep. But this method worked even better.

“And that was not the end of it. It turned out that the quiescent brains could be altered before reawakening, either through lab apparatus or through the nature of the virus itself. The possibilities of this had people in Paradigm Corporation very excited, I am sad to say.”

Roger asked, “Altered how?”

“In various ways. The possibilities they found most appealing were to condition the subjects to obedience and servitude, though some of the decision-makers preferred a tendency towards violence. The combination, it was felt, would make an excellent army. It is this work that I wish to have stopped, with proper safeguards and the destruction of much of the material.”

“I see.”

“Some of my colleagues are not keen to give up. They fear punishment or believe in the work itself. You will have to deal with them in addition to the government.” He fumbled around on his desk and eventually found a file folder, which he handed to Roger. “The details are here. Read them over, and we will meet again.”

*  *  *

Dastun relaxed over his after-dinner coffee. The meal had gone very well. He and Beck had recounted the tales of Beck’s crimes, one after another, from their different perspectives. Each man, hearing the other side for the first time, was fascinated, and they would have rehashed old crimes all night if Angel hadn’t abruptly left to prepare for her date with Dastun. Angel managed to simultaneously smile and glare at him before leaving, as only she could.

Beck excused himself to make a few phone calls to the shop he had engaged to make a new weapons system for Big B. He badgered them day and night.

Dastun smiled at Dori. “You’ve been quiet,” he said.

“I’m self-conscious tonight,” she admitted.

“I’ve been wondering,” he said, “What is it between Angel and Roger, and between Angel and Beck, for that matter?”

“No more indiscretions today. You’ll have to ask her yourself.”

“Awkward,” he said.

“She won’t mind. But you have to ask, or spend eternity not knowing.” She smiled her faint smile.

“Were you leveling with me before?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“I repeated what she told me herself, this afternoon. She had Norman prepare a bedroom for you, so you’d have an alibi in the morning.”

Dastun grimaced. “Next door to hers, I suppose?”

“Across the hall. Someone told Norman that you snore. You’re next door to me. I don’t sleep; snore all you like. There’s pajamas and underwear and socks and a toothbrush. I don’t know if the new uniform arrived in time.”

“Norman is a wonder.”

“Yes he is, even if he did refuse to add Tony to my hugging list.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the way he blushes and stammers for five minutes after I hug him.”

“How do you know, if he isn’t on the list?”

“Angel vouched for him because she likes teasing him. He has a crush on Dorothy. He’s even more awkward around me. Angel said I shouldn’t stop at hugging, either. That’s what got her thrown off my team of advisors.”

*  *  *

Back in the car, Roger said, “Well, we’re free for the rest of the evening. What would you like to do?”

“I think that Angel may have the right idea,” said Dorothy. “Music, dancing, conversation. What should I wear?”

“The new miniskirt outfit,” said Roger, decisively.

“Because it’s the only black one, or because it’s the skimpiest?”

“Both.”

She considered. “I’m not sure that outfit is decent to wear in public.”

“Good. I want my fellow man to fall over dead with envy.”

“You really are such a louse, Roger Smith.”

“That’s settled, then.”

*  *  *

Angel knocked on the door of Dastun’s room as he was knotting his tie.

“Come in,” he said.

“Nice uniform,” she said. “How does Norman do it?”

“I don’t know, but there were three of them in the closet waiting for me. I figured I looked a little rumpled, so I tried one on.” He regarded his reflection in the mirror complacently. “Not bad.” He turned back to you. “And you’re looking especially gorgeous tonight yourself.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, smiling. She was wearing one of her more respectable miniskirt outfits, one that said, “Having a night out with my man,” rather than “Hey, sailor: you alone?”

They traveled down the elevator in companionable silence. This was not their first date, and Dastun had lost most of his initial nervousness with Angel. They could always get over any awkwardness by talking shop: guns, tricks of the detective/espionage trade, gossip about the higher-ups in Paradigm Corporation.

At the ground floor, Dastun shouted, “Sorenson!” and the Lieutenant appeared as if by magic.

Angel turned to Dastun. “A chaperone?” she asked, archly.

“There’s some bad stuff happening,” he said. “I want to be on call, and I _don’t_ want to lug one of those jumbo-sized police walkie-talkies with me on a date. You might get sarcastic.”

“Can’t you use one of those communicator watches?”

“Yeah, when I have fifty grand in the budget to spend on one.”

Angel was shocked. “Do they really cost that much?” Roger had given her three of them.

“At least. The police ones send in clear. The encrypted ones like Roger uses cost a lot more. But Sorenson here is on salary. He can wait in the car and fetch me if I’m needed.”

Angel said to the Lieutenant, “I hope you didn’t have to break a date with Julie.”

He said, “I did, as a matter of fact.”

“Any time you can manage to bring her around for breakfast, consider the two of you invited,” said Angel. “And I’ll get you a dinner invitation soon.”

Sorenson beamed, “Thanks, Miss Angel.”

“Just Angel, unless Julie will get all funny about it.”

*  *  *

Roger and Dorothy walked into the Octagon, the most popular nightclub in Paradigm. There was a pretty good crowd for a weekday, but not enough to be troublesome. Heads turned as they were shown to their table. Dorothy’s miniskirt was indeed skimpy, though on someone with her petite build and air of self-contained calmness, it was more cute than scandalous. Angel could have stopped traffic and caused riots in a similar getup.

Though not actually smiling, Dorothy seemed unusually happy. She soon got up and pulled Roger to the dance floor.

“Do you dance?” asked Roger.

“You are such a louse! You’ve never bothered to find out.”

The music started. The band was excellent. They played a swing number—jitterbugging had recently made a comeback. Dorothy grabbed Roger and off they went.

She danced beautifully. Roger was surprised. Foxtrot, tango, cha-cha, waltz … he prided himself on his own dancing, though he had fallen out of practice since Dorothy had arrived and the stream of young women arriving at the mansion had dried up. Had he done that himself, by becoming more and more indifferent to them, or had Norman and Dorothy arranged it? It had probably been his own doing. He hadn’t missed them at the time.

He had to remind himself from time to time of how heavy she was, since certain dance moves—even an overenthusiastic dip—could end in disaster. But mostly it was easy to forget. She let him lead, following him smoothly, though if he made a mistake and moved the wrong way, it was like dancing with an iron piling.

After the set they returned to their table. Dorothy seemed very happy. “You dance wonderfully,” she said.

“You, too.” He reached a hand across the little table and she took it in hers.

“It’s easy for me,” she said. “My reflexes are so fast. But I was pleased that I remembered all the steps.”

“When did you learn?”

“The real Dorothy loved to dance. I remember how from her.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call her that. You’re as real as she ever was.”

“I’ll call her ‘the human Dorothy’ from now on.”

He smiled at her. “Why are you so happy tonight?”

“Isn’t it enough that we’re together?”

He smiled. “Probably not.”

“There’s another reason. I’ll tell you later.”

*  *  *

Dastun and Angel found themselves at the amusement dome, with Lt. Sorenson trailing behind with the walkie-talkie. They had done the Ferris Wheel and most of the other rides, including a particularly vicious round of bumper cars that had not only included ramming, but a boarding action as well, when Angel leapt from her car to Dastun’s and wrested the controls from him through a combination of jabs and tickling, and had then engaged in a spirited ramming duel with Lt. Sorenson.

They were now terrifying the patrons of the shooting gallery with fancy trick shots. Angel was trying to line up one of the horrible little rifles with the intentionally inaccurate sights for a behind-the-back shot, using the mirror in her compact to see what she was aiming at, but burst out laughing when Dastun attempted a backwards shot by bending double to shoot between his own legs. He really wasn’t flexible enough for this feat, and he would have fallen over if Lt. Sorenson hadn’t steadied him. The shooting gallery was emptying fast. Angel laughed so hard her sides hurt.

About the time they had their breath back, the walkie-talkie burst into garbled speech. Instantly serious, Dastun and Lt. Sorenson concentrated on making out the words. Then they both straightened up, suddenly purposeful. “Come on,” said Dastun, and hurried out of the gallery. Angel and Lt. Sorenson followed. They went into a photo studio where patrons could get their pictures taken in silly costumes. It was quiet in there.

Dastun picked up the walkie-talkie. “Okay, tell me what’s happening.” He listened intently for a while and said, “Yeah. I’ll call Roger Smith and find out if he knows anything. Right. Sure, keep an eye on him. Just don’t bother him. Right. Dastun out.”

He turned to Sorenson. “Telephone.”

Sorenson pointed. There was one next to the cash register. The photographer glared at them but made no protest when Dastun, without asking permission, picked up the receiver and dialed.

*  *  *

Beck and Dori inspected the work being done on Big B. Beck had been growing increasingly concerned about Big B’s lack of heavy armament. Big B’s chromebuster was non-functional, and the massive space in his chest for a really heavy weapon was empty. The Megadeuses that he and Roger had destroyed had been so thoroughly trashed that nothing could be salvaged from them. Beck longed for a shock vortex or a fusion beam, but no one knew how to build them. He had a chromebuster on order, but it would not be ready for weeks. As a stopgap, he was installing missile racks in Big B’s torso.

He was not happy with the way the work was progressing. He had wanted the missile racks installed first, with the modifications to Big B’s torso armor coming later. That way, Big B would never be unarmored if he had to be taken out on short notice. But the factory engineers had insisted that this could not be done. Big B stood with his entire front torso exposed. Men swarmed around inside him, readying the mounting points for the missile racks. The torso armor had its own swarm of men, cutting launching slits and affixing shutters. Although work was going on 24 hours a day, Beck was fretting.

He was taking it out on Tony. Tony was new on the job, having abandoned a less reputable outfit in favor of one that Norman thought highly of. Tony had volunteered to be the contact person on any work for Roger or Beck. He had a thing about android women and got to see a lot of Dorothy and Dori this way. He was painfully in love with Dorothy, to the point where his perfectly natural attraction to Dori made him feel unfaithful.

Both Dori and Dorothy were sympathetic but not encouraging. Each of them felt that the other R. Dorothy Wayneright was a delightful person and that any man of sense would fall in love with her, and so Tony’s reaction was not to be wondered at. But his infatuation put him at risk of personal violence from Roger and especially Beck.

Tony also had an intense conviction that Dori was too good for Beck and a weaker one that Dorothy was too good for Roger. He also disliked Beck personally. Beck meddled in the work and was the sort of person who came up with brilliant ideas just as his perfectly adequate previous idea was being brought to completion. The fact that he paid lavishly, appreciated good work, and had far more interesting ideas than anyone else did not compensate for the aggravation of having to scrap good work, or for his infuriating work habits, which included calling people at home in the middle of the night. Beck was an insomniac who did his best sleeping during afternoon naps, and he didn’t see why anyone else should sleep when he couldn’t. If it hadn’t been for Dori, Tony would have walked off the job long ago.

“Just remember, pal, that if the city gets leveled because Big B is in pieces, it’s all your fault,” said Beck, stabbing a finger at him. “So get the lead out. Stop screwing around. Get back to work.”

Ordinarily, this sort of thing would have had Tony incandescent with rage. But Dori was standing a little behind Beck and was mouthing his words and mimicking his gestures with perfect accuracy, except for her deadpan expression. Tonight, Tony’s problem lay in not bursting out laughing.

“Yes, Mr. Beck,” he said with a straight face.

“Come on, Dori,” said Beck, and stalked out. Dori winked at Tony and followed.

*  *  *

Dorothy helped Roger out of the elevator. He had managed to twist his ankle during a conga line around the nightclub, when it had wound across the stage and back down, and he had expected there to be one less step than there really was. The elevator didn’t go all the way up to the penthouse, so Roger had to deal with the spiral staircase. He knew Dorothy could simply pick him up and carry him, but he didn’t suggest this, and neither did she. She helped him limp up the stairs, led him to a couch, and went to fetch some ice for his foot.

The phone rang. A moment later, Dorothy returned, phone in hand. “It’s General Dastun.”

Roger picked up the phone. “What is it, Dastun?”

“Roger, did you meet with an Amos Greenlake this evening?”

“Yes. He’s my new client.”

“Not anymore. He’s been murdered. Shot through the heart.”

*  *  *

Much later, Lt. Sorenson drove them home. He got out and opened Angel's door.

Angel said, “Dan, you rat, get out of the damned car and see me to my door like a gentleman. You’re setting a bad example for the Lieutenant.”

Dan got out dutifully and took her arm. “What kind of an example will I be setting if I follow you in?” he muttered.

Smiling encouragingly, she said, “He'll assume that you’re going up to have a nightcap with your good pal Roger. The Lieutenant’s mother stays up until he gets home, and the poor old lady needs her sleep. Let him go.” She smiled dazzlingly at him.

Hoping the light of the streetlamps didn’t reveal that he was blushing, he said, “Thank you Lieutenant. That will be all.”

He took Angel’s arm again and escorted her into the house.

*  *  *

That night, Roger dreamed.

He got out of the staff car and Lt. Lovejoy—Angel—drove off. It was a fine spring day. He straightened his uniform automatically as he walked past the bed of daffodils, now past their prime, and down the walk to his apartment. The bees were buzzing in the apple blossoms.

Dorothy was there, struggling up the steps with a pair of heavy suitcases.

“Here,” he said. “Let me help you with those.”

“Thank you.”

He picked up both suitcases easily in one hand and fished for his keys with the other. As he opened the door and waved her inside, he asked, “What’s in the suitcases?”

“My things. I’m moving in with you.”

He stared at her, speechless. She looked back at him calmly, her eyes a deep violet.

Finally, he said, “Your father is going to be furious.”

“Yes.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I’ve been talking to Angel.”

Roger and Angel had broken up, again, only the week before. He almost shouted, “So this is all Angel’s idea?”

“No. It was mine. She doesn’t like it. She sees the sense in it, though.”

“Well, I don’t. Are you going to explain it to me?”

She looked up at him, considering. “Not yet.”

Roger set the suitcases on the carpet and turned to face her. “Do I have to throw you out?”

“You can’t.”

“I’m stronger than you,” he pointed out.

“I would resist. You would have to hurt me.”

Roger looked down at her small, frail, determined form. Just imagining her being injured made him feel sick. He sighed, defeated. He said, “You’re only seventeen. Your father will have me arrested.”

“No. For the same reason that you won’t throw me out.”

With more than a hint of sarcasm, Roger threw his arms wide and said, “Well, Dorothy, welcome to your new home!”

“Thank you, Roger,” she said gravely.

After a moment, he began to smile.

*  *  *

In the morgue, Amos Greenlake tried to sit up. His head banged on the ceiling of the drawer.

“Oh, dear,” he said.

*  *  *

In the morning, Dastun set down a tray and said, “I brought you coffee, Angel.”

She sat up, shook her hair out of her face, straightened her pajama top, and tried to focus. “Cream and three sugars,” she said blearily.

He sat and watched her through her first two cups of coffee. Angel was not hard on the eyes, even in her groggy, bad-tempered, early-morning dishabille.

Gradually, she began to smile. She put down her coffee cup and twinkled at him. “Good morning,” she said.

“Hi.”

“You really needed that,” she said, stretching. “Me, too.”

“Angel, there’s something I want to …”

“No! Stop! Me first.” She collected her thoughts, then, “Dan, there are things you can’t expect from me, and I don’t want you to ask for them, or even get your hopes up.”

“Angel,” he began.

“Let me finish. I know what I’m talking about. Dan, for god’s sake don’t think of me as a future Mrs. Dastun. I’m not up to it. I’m not the type. If I spend too much time with a man, we end up at each other’s throats. This mansion is almost too small for me and Roger, and I’m not even sleeping with him.”

Dastun protested, “Well, you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yes, I would. Don’t kid yourself,” she said. After a moment, she added reluctantly, “Beck, too.”

“They’re pretty well sewn up,” he said.

“Don’t I know it! And it’s not like the Wayneright sisters don’t know all about me,” she added, looking unhappy. “God knows why they put up with me. I wouldn't. But my point is that I can’t marry you, and because I can’t live with a man without fighting and because I never completely let go of an old flame, I won’t even measure up as a steady girlfriend.” She looked up at him as if expecting a blow.

His desire to comfort her warred with his injured pride. The idea that she still openly carried a torch for Roger particularly bothered him. “This isn’t very flattering,” he grumbled.

Her face crumpled. “I know it isn’t. It’s ghastly. It’s not fair to you at all.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “You deserve better, Dan, you really do.”

He couldn’t bear to see her cry. He took her in his arms and wracked his brain for something to say that carried the right tone. Finally, he said, “You’ll do until something better comes along.”

She smiled through her tears. “That’s the spirit,” she said.

*  *  *

Amos Greenlake tried to take his pulse. There wasn’t one.

He sighed. That caught his interest. “Am I breathing?” he asked. He listened. “No,” he decided, “just to talk.”

He thought about this for a long time. Then he said, “I’m compelled to conclude that they funded the anaerobic-mode research without telling me.” After a while he added. “I wonder how I got infected.”

What was it about the anaerobic mode that had made him so adamantly opposed to it? He tried to remember.

He wished they’d hurry up and pull him out of the drawer for his autopsy. He hoped that none of the doctors in attendance had a heart condition.

*  *  *

Late the next morning, Roger looked up from the papers Greenlake had given him. “Does any of this make sense to you?” he asked Dorothy.

“Not much,” she admitted. “Microbiology is not one of my fields.”

“I have a client, but he’s dead. Normally, that wouldn’t matter, but I don’t really understand his wishes. He wanted things sorted out, but I can’t do the sorting myself, and he’s not here to advise me.”

Dorothy said, “Will you turn it over to the military police?”

“I think I have to.”

“I will get General Dastun on the phone.” She rose.

“No hurry. He’s coming over for dinner, isn’t he?”

“Yes. Angel wants to include his aide, Lt. Sorenson, and his girlfriend Julie, if that’s all right with you.”

“Good. It’ll help keep him from taking shop at the dinner table. Warn him that I have a case to discuss with him, so he knows not to schedule any after-dinner meetings. I swear the man never stops working. He even called us last night when he was supposed to be out on a date.”

“Angel doesn’t seem to hold this against him. They were holding hands under the table at breakfast.”

“He spent the night?”

“He stayed in one of the guest rooms.”

“I’ll bet he did. Well, maybe Angel will be able to keep her hands off me now. But what are we going to do about this case? I know I have to hand it over; I’m out of my depth with all this medical stuff. But there’s probably _something_ I ought to be doing.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Dorothy said nothing.

Roger suddenly shot to his feet. “Ow!” he said, as he put weight on his injured foot.

Dorothy asked, “What is it?”

“Suspended animation! Get Dastun on the phone quick! If Greenlake was the sort of doctor who sampled his own wares, shooting him in the heart isn’t enough to kill him.”

*  *  *

Dastun was leaning against the wall of the morgue, looking green. Roger wasn’t much better.

“Yes, yes,” said Amos Greenlake peevishly. “I look like a corpse. Put me on a heart-lung machine and warm me up, and I’ll look better in no time.”

Dorothy asked, “Can your heart be repaired?” There were three doctors in the room with them, all experienced men, but she was the only one who had retained her normal color and calmness.

“I have no idea. But I will not last forever in this anaerobic state, either. It is very destructive to the tissues, especially if I exert myself. I seem to remember that one’s mental equilibrium is the first thing to go. Either way, being shot through the heart is not something with a good prognosis. I was in very poor health in any event.”

Roger asked, “Could you at least give us a list of men we should trust, and men we should not?”

“Yes, I can do that. The list in either case is very short. Trust Dr. Redberg and Dr. Jones. Distrust Dr. Redberg and Dr. Jones. As for the others, they fall in the middle.”

Dorothy asked, “Could you give us the list again? I’m not sure I heard you the first time.”

Greenlake frowned. “It’s very simple. Dr. Redberg is completely trustworthy. Dr. Jones is a snake. And I fear that Dr. Redberg is as well. And now I fear I must rest.” He lay back.

Roger, Dorothy, and Dastun withdrew, leaving Greenlake to the doctors. Sorenson was sitting in a chair outside, looking pale. He had been overcome early in the proceedings.

Dastun said, “Arrest the lot of them and question them separately, that’s how I figure it. And in the meantime, have the forensics guys go through the labs very carefully. Roger, I really don’t think there’s any more for you to do here.”

“My client is still alive,” said Roger.

“Sort of. If he ever becomes coherent enough to give you instructions, maybe you’ll be back in the game,” said Dastun. “But I don’t need you poking around. Some of that stuff is supposed to be infectious, and somebody shot the hell out of Greenlake. I don’t want you wandering through the case spreading disease and drawing fire, okay? Not unless you have a clear mandate. And you don’t.”

“You’re right,” said Roger. “And I’ll let you know if anything brings me back in. The game plan always involved keeping you in the loop.”

“Thanks. Go put some more ice on that ankle. I’ll see you at dinner. Don’t forget I’m bringing Sorenson and his girlfriend.”

“We’ll roll out the red carpet, Dastun.”

*  *  *

The next morning, Norman waited until Roger was breakfasted, dressed, and ready for the day, and then reported that Dastun wanted him to call.

“What is it, Dastun?” asked Roger, when the call had gone through.

“Well, Roger, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that this mess with the medical research isn’t one of Alex Rosewater’s crazy projects.”

Roger asked, “What’s the bad news?”

“It’s somebody else’s crazy project. Revolutionaries within the Paradigm Corporation. They were going to put a whole bunch of people in suspended animation, brainwash them, and then break them out all at once and take over the city.”

Roger snorted, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Yeah, it does sort of beg the question, doesn’t it? I mean, so they’re brainwashed—so what? It’s not like brainwashing gives them weapons skills or a firm grasp of tactics or anything. But that part’s been confirmed. Maybe there’s more. Anyway, we’re planning a big raid this afternoon, and figured that it wouldn’t hurt to have Big O as backup. You want to be there? Would you rather be on call? Or do you need to sit this one out?”

“I can be there.”

“How’s the ankle?”

“It’s still stiff. Big O isn’t going to tap-dance today. I suppose it’ll be okay, though.”

“Think about it. Maybe you can have someone else do the pedals or something.”

Roger laughed. “That would work even worse with Big O than it does with a car!”

*  *  *

Amos Greenlake woke up. He felt very unhappy and all alone. He wanted to go home. He sat up and looked around. He was on a table in the morgue. Ridiculous! He wondered vaguely if his car was down in the garage.

To his surprise, the door was locked. The doorknob twisted off in his hand but the door didn’t open. Peevishly, he banged on it to get the attention of the staff. It seemed awfully flimsy, so he beat it down. The elevator gave him no trouble, and he got out at the lobby. There was some kind of commotion going on around him. He thought vaguely that one had to expect emergencies at a hospital.

Forgetting his car, he hoped to get a taxi, but the only one in front of the hospital took off with a screech of tires as he approached.

He wasn’t tired. He decided to walk the two miles to his home.

*  *  *

Roger used a pair of binoculars to scan the scene from the cockpit of Big O.

The research facility was, as Roger could have predicted, outside the domes in a rundown industrial area, part of the squalid fringes of Paradigm that had been largely abandoned. Property here was free for the taking, and no one asked any questions.

The facility was surrounded by a sturdy chain-link fence with security lights all around and warning signs reporting the presence of a lethal electric charge. Razor wire topped the fence.

The buildings inside were ordinary two- and three-story office buildings that had been restored to good repair. For once, no enormous warehouses portended hidden robots anywhere in the neighborhood.

Roger’s foot had worsened earlier that day, and he had finally gone to a doctor and discovered that he had torn a ligament and had to have a cast. He returned not long before he needed to set out to support Dastun’s operation. Dorothy helped him up the stairs to the penthouse.

Dori was there, reading a soppy romance novel. She looked up and saw the cast on his foot. “How are you going to run the foot pedals with a cast on?” she asked.

“Where’s Beck?”

“He’s off with some friends. Coarse company; not suitable for a little lady like me,” she said, deadpan.

“Can you help me run the pedals on Big O?”

“All right. How?”

“You sit on the edge of the command seat and put your feet on the pedals. I put my feet on top of yours. You match my motions, but harder. I may also have to give you voice commands.”

Dori considered. “You only need me on the left pedal, don’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“It may work better if I put my hand on the pedal instead of my foot. You’ll have a better surface to press against. Don’t look like that; you can’t hurt me.”

They tried it and it seemed to work. Dori positioned herself at Roger’s feet so she was facing forward, in case seeing out would help her in her task as a power booster. Her right hand was on Big O’s left pedal, and Roger’s damaged left foot was on her hand. The cast reduced the mobility and strength in that foot to almost nothing, and grinding Dori’s hand under his heel was horribly unaesthetic, but it worked.

Dorothy could have piloted Big O while Roger ran the weapons systems, but she found the idea distasteful. While Big O’s legs were not in themselves a weapons system, they were what brought him to grips with enemies. Dorothy was only really happy if Roger made all the decisions having to do with killing while she followed orders or reported events. And while the probe cables were long enough to have allowed her to take Dori’s place, Dorothy felt that the current arrangement was best. She was very busy during combat as it was, though you couldn’t tell it by looking at her.

Dori had called Beck to get his permission to accompany Roger on this jaunt. Beck found the whole thing hysterically funny and agreed at once.

Dastun’s men were already in position, of course. People with guilty consciences might flee upon Big O’s approach, and the police needed to be in position to scoop them up if they did. The police radio crackled with uninteresting reports. Roger continued to scan the scene with binoculars.

Suddenly, all hell broke loose. Men swarmed out of one of the office buildings and began to attack the cops.

“What the hell?” said Roger. The police were dropping like flies.

“Big O! Action!” He urged Big O into motion. With Dori’s help, this worked smoothly enough.

Soon there were no more cops out in the open. Most had disappeared into armored cars or tanks, whose hatches had slammed shut in a hurry. Machine guns and even cannon were opening fire on the attackers, who seemed to resist the onslaught surprisingly well.

“What is this? More cyborgs?” asked Roger, dismayed. Big O wasn’t really set up for anti-personnel work. Big B was much better equipped.

“Eye lasers,” he announced, as he brought these into play. He started picking off the attackers one by one. Whatever they were, they weren’t laser-proof. When he hit one, what was left of it—not much—didn’t get back up again.

As he got closer, he began to see the attackers more clearly. They looked like corpses—not like fresh corpses, like Amos Greenlake, but preserved corpses. Cadavers.

Some of them wore armor. Most carried weapons of some sort. A few had an oddly bulky look. One of these spread-eagled itself against the side of a tank. There was a huge explosion, and when the smoke cleared, the tank was on its side, with a huge hole where the explosion had taken place. Roger immediately started targeting the other bulky attackers.

Dori gasped. “Zombies,” she said. “They’re zombies!”

Big O was now only a couple of hundred yards from the nearest zombies. They were taking no notice of him. Even the walking bombs probably couldn’t breach Big O’s armor. Roger continued picking them off.

Soon, the tide of battle had turned. It took a lot of machine-gun bullets to destroy a zombie, but the police _had_ a lot of machine-gun bullets. And the artillery on the tanks worked very well. Dastun had high-explosive shells whose range could be set all the way down to zero, which meant that they exploded only a few feet beyond the muzzles of the guns. Zombies were getting ripped to pieces by shrapnel.

A hail of bullets erupted from one of the office buildings. Roger said, “Dori, we’re going to go rip the roof off the building.” Big O turned and approached the building. With one quick motion, Big O grabbed the roof in both hands and lifted it from the building, then tossed it aside. Inside were a number of zombies operating three heavy machine gun nests. Other zombies were clumsily trying to bring an antitank gun into operation. A quick flash of the eye lasers melted the antitank gun, then Big O grasped the front wall of the building and pulled. Now exposed, the area was filled with shrapnel from Dastun’s tanks.

Norman’s face suddenly appeared on the screen. Roger said, “What is it, Norman?”

“Master Roger, I am terribly sorry, but the house is under attack.”

“Norman, if it’s the same thing we’re fighting here, it’s zombies, and they’re out of your league. Try to make it to Big B and give Beck a hand.”

“Very good, Master Roger.” Norman’s face vanished from the screen.

“Dorothy, put through …”

“On screen,” said Dorothy.

Beck’s face appeared on the screen. For once he was not smiling. “Beck, the mansion is under attack. I think it’s more zombies like we’re fighting here. They’re really tough, but no match for a Megadeus, even without armor. Can you lend us a hand?”

“Is Dori okay?”

“I’m fine, Jason,” said Dori. “Nothing has even scratched Big O. But I’m worried about Norman.”

“It’ll be a few minutes,” warned Beck. “I can’t bring Big B to me in his condition; there are workmen swarming around inside him. But it won’t be long. Bye now.” His image vanished.

*  *  *

Norman slid down the chute into Big O’s hangar. It was perfectly silent here. No sound of the struggle with the police made it through the thick walls. Norman dashed to his maintenance railcar and got inside. In no time he was hurtling down the subway at a hundred miles an hour. There was, not coincidentally, a stairway to the surface that emerged inside Big B’s hangar.

In very little time he was on the main floor, demanding that the workmen get out of Big B and that the hangar doors be opened. Tony was repeating these orders, making them official. Norman crossed the floor and took the gantry elevator up to the cockpit level. Big B would probably not allow him to pilot him, even in an emergency, but he could check to make sure Big B was ready to go.

“Hello, Big B,” said Norman as he crossed into the cockpit. “We have not met before, but I am Norman Burg. I take care of Big O.” He could feel Big B’s attention on him.

He continued. “Have we? I don’t recall. My word. Then it is a pleasure to see you again. Mr. Beck will be here any minute, or so he assures me. Roger Smith’s home is under attack, and the disturbance around Big O is also continuing. No, she is with Big O at the moment. Ah. Here comes Mr. Beck.”

Big B bent down and placed his palm on the ground. Beck clambered aboard and in an instant was stepping into the cockpit. “Hi, Big B. Hi, Norman. Damned contractors. I want my armor!” he muttered, throwing himself into the command chair and crossing his arms.

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .  
YE NOT GUILTY

“Big B! Action!” called Beck.

Big B marched out of the hangar.

“Let’s get Roger on the horn,” said Beck to himself and Big B, punching the appropriate buttons. “Roger, old pal, where do you need me?”

“Things have died down at the main site,” said Roger. “The zombies have taken over the mansion. I’m wondering if Big B’s hangar is also going to come under attack.”

“What do these zombies look like?”

“Cadavers, mostly. Some of them look really bulky. Those are carrying a big load of explosives for suicide bombings. A few have built-in weapons.”

“Hard to kill?”

“Not by Megadeus standards, but you wouldn’t want to meet one in a dark alley. You pretty much have to shred them or fry them to make them stop moving.”

“I’ll take a look around the old homestead, Roger, and then move on to your place if nothing’s cooking here. There are a lot of workmen on-site here, and I’d hate for them to run into anything worse than me.”

A semi truck, apparently oblivious to Big B’s presence nearby, pulled up in front of the hangar. The rear door opened and zombies began to pour out.

“Claymores!” called Beck, as he manipulated the controls. The toecaps of Big B’s feet snapped open, and Beck fired a series of claymore mines, causing enormous numbers of hardened steel ball-bearings, half an inch in diameter, to whiz through the air a few feet off the ground. In no time the zombies and the truck were shredded.

“Fish in a barrel!” chortled Beck. “Fish in a barrel!” He picked off a couple of survivors with the eye lasers. He’d gotten much better at using them recently.

“Mr. Beck,” said Norman. “Sorry to intrude, but there is another truckload behind you.”

Beck demonstrated that Big B had hitherto unsuspected heel claymores as well, but the second truck had disgorged its contents, and the zombies had spread out. Many survived the initial onslaught.

“Damn it to hell!” said Beck. “I wish Dori were here! Everything’s ten times harder when I have to do it myself.” Big B spun around. The zombies were too spread out to make good targets for Beck’s remaining claymore mines, so he began stepping on them instead. Beck discovered that he liked this part. He liked it a lot.

He glanced at the hangar and was relieved to see that the doors had been shut. Then he saw an unusually bulky zombie heading for the doors, and zapped it with Big B’s eye lasers. There was a tremendous explosion, but all it did was put a crater in the pavement.

“Nobody beats up my contractors but me!” announced Beck. He zapped another bulky zombie with Big B’s eye lasers, and looked around for other targets. Just two or three left. He zapped those, too, then made a circuit of the warehouse, looking for stragglers or new trucks. Nothing.

He called Roger. “Two truckloads of zombies arrived here,” he announced. “Two up, two down. How’s things with you?”

“We’re in the Prairie Dog now,” said Roger. “Monitors say they haven’t breached the hangar yet, so we don’t quite know what’s going on. We’ll be in the hangar in a minute. I’m afraid they may have taken out the cops on duty, though.”

“I’ll stroll on by and lend a hand,” said Beck. He cut Roger off and called Dastun. Lt. Sorenson answered. “Mr. Beck! Where are you?”

“Just finished two truckloads of zombies over at Hangar B,” said Beck. “I’m moving towards Roger’s house unless you have something more interesting for me to do, Sorenson.”

“We’re converging there now.” Sorenson made suggestions about route. Beck agreed. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck behind traffic, and cops knew which streets could be cleared quickly.

He called Roger again. “Dori, honey, I miss you terribly. Much as I value Norman, he’s no substitute at all.”

Roger growled, “Damn it, Beck! Get off the line! I’m moving into position now.” Dori’s hand appeared briefly in the shot as she waved to Beck. He grinned and closed the connection.

Long before Beck reached the mansion, it was all over. A number of zombies had been milling around outside and had fallen prey to Big O’s eye lasers. The police had then followed up with an assault on the interior of the mansion, using volunteers in flak jackets and carrying either shotguns or tommy guns. The fight was brief but bloody, continuing all the way up through the penthouse and onto the roof.

*  *  *

The police declared the house to be safe, and Roger, Dori, and Dorothy got out of Big O. Roger felt uneasy enough to pick up a sawed-off shotgun from the weapons rack. He loaded it with heavy buckshot shells and put a handful in his coat pocket.

He tried calling the police office on the ground floor, but the circuit was dead. He used his wrist communicator to warn Dastun that he was coming through the armored door into the main section of the house.

He unlocked and opened the heavy metal door and stepped through into the ground floor lobby. His jaw dropped. “My god,” he said.

The floor and walls were scarred everywhere with bullet holes. There were holes in the floor here and there where grenades had gone off. Some of the ancient teller’s windows had been destroyed by the blasts. There was a surprising amount of blood. Roger was pretty sure that the zombies didn’t bleed. He had a bad feeling about this.

Dori was clinging to Dorothy, looking around with wide eyes.

A policeman approached them. Roger asked him, “What happened to the men on duty here when the fighting began?”

The policeman shook his head. “None of them made it,” he said. “It looks like three of them holed up in the corner office and made a barricade out of the desk and filing cabinet, but they only lasted long enough to sound the alarm. The two guys outside must have been the first ones down.”

Dori asked quietly, “Sergeant Alderson? Officer McClurg? Officer Johnson? Officer Riley? Officer Simmons? Officer Weinstein? Officer Baker? Officer Short? His wife is going to have a baby.” She seemed dazed.

“I’m sorry, miss,” said the policeman. “They’re all dead.”

“Roger, I must get Dori home right away,” said Dorothy.

Roger twisted the dial on his communicator. Beck had finally condescended to allow incoming calls. “Beck? Dori needs you right away. Where are you? Okay, meet you there.” He turned to Dori. “Beck will be here in Big B in about two minutes. Let’s go wait for him outside.”

“They were my friends,” said Dori. “Jason was going to put them on my hugging list.” She allowed them to lead her outside.

Big B showed up soon afterward. Beck and Norman took the interior elevator down, emerging from a portal in Big B’s right foot. Dori clung fiercely to Beck, who was so moved by her distress that tears streamed down his cheeks and into his beard. He led her gently to the portal and they disappeared inside Big B. A moment later, Big B turned and headed towards home.

Norman spoke. “Master Roger, how is your foot?”

“What?” Roger hadn’t thought about it for some time. He must have been suppressing the pain, because, now that he was reminded of it, it came flooding back. He sagged. Dorothy and Norman supported him.

“If you will wait on the steps, Master Roger, I will survey the damage to the house. We may wish to stay in a hotel for the night.”

At the moment, Roger felt a tremendous need to stay close to Big O, but he nodded anyway. “Take care of it, Norman,” he said weakly. Events had taken more out of him than he had realized.

Norman came back about half an hour later and reported that the damage was serious in places, but large areas of the house had been entirely spared. Roger’s office had taken a terrible beating, and his collection of hourglasses had been largely destroyed. The eighth floor, with kitchen, dining room, and most of the bedrooms, had been entirely spared. Parts of the penthouse, including the picture windows and the piano, had been wrecked, but Roger’s bedroom was untouched. The stairs were badly damaged by grenade blasts, but the elevator was working perfectly. Several of the unused floors had taken damage, but this was inconsequential.

Because the eighth floor was untouched, Norman recommended that they reoccupy the house at once, but that Roger sleep in a guest room until the penthouse was tidied up. Roger agreed wearily.

Throughout the narrative, Dorothy had focused entirely on Roger’s loss, not hers, which made him feel like a louse. He could hardly complain about her supportiveness, however.

“I’m sorry about your piano,” he offered.

“It’s all right,” she said. “We can get another.” She was silent for a long moment, then said, “Roger, promise me you’ll never buy me anything that’s irreplaceable.”

He squeezed her hand. “That’s easy enough. Let’s go inside.”

Dorothy asked, “Norman, do the telephones work?”

“Yes, Miss Dorothy.”

“I’ll need to call Dori as soon as Roger is settled.”

“Very good, Miss.”

*  *  *

Dinner was somber. Roger was glad that Lt. Sorenson and his girlfriend had been here the day before, and not tonight. The coroner had removed all the bodies and a disaster recovery company had done all that could be done by sweeping, scrubbing, and setting police tape around damaged areas. Repairs would commence tomorrow.

Angel had arrived after most things had been squared away, having not heard a word about the day’s combat. She was horrified, of course, but not as deeply affected as the rest of them; more angry than anything. She glowered through the meal, muttering threats against the people responsible.

Dastun showed up for the meal a little late, bringing Sorenson up with him. Angel flung herself into Dastun’s arms with almost Dori-like abandon. As usual, Dastun had managed to sustain superficial injuries. He had a bandage around his left bicep.

They refrained from talking about the day’s events during the meal. For once, Roger’s rule against shop talk at the table suited everyone. But during the after-dinner coffee, Dastun spoke.

“We found Amos Greenlake wandering around the streets, scaring the life out of people. Apparently he just wanted to go home, but he got lost along the way. He was disoriented and agitated, and becoming increasingly aggressive. He wouldn’t listen to us. In the end, we had to shoot him.”

Dorothy said, “That poor man.”

Dastun continued, “We’re learning more from the researchers we took prisoner. Greenlake’s work was a Pandora ’s Box. Every loony in Paradigm had a different way to twist his technology to their own ends. Greenlake just wanted to heal people. A lot of people had other agendas.”

Roger said, “Tell us about the zombies.”

“We’re trying to find out where they came from. Street people, mostly, we think, and people hired to work on distant construction jobs and were never heard from again. This was done by some really sick bastards. They played around with attaching weapons to the zombies with bolts or steel bands. Disgusting stuff like that. Apparently they conditioned them to follow orders blindly, and it worked.”

Roger sighed. “Well, we can see how they thought they could take over Paradigm with these troops. Tell me, have we caught all the ringleaders?”

Dastun shook his head. “Probably not. And the damned virus is stable in storage. A pocketful of test tubes and you have a lifetime supply. The brainwashing apparently isn’t all that hard, either.”

*  *  *

In the wastelands, Big Lazarus waited in a derelict hangar. The new Dominus was performing maintenance in the cockpit. He drained last month’s preservative solution into a jerry can, cleaned the filters on the pump, and added new solution. He primed the pump carefully and opened the valve at the top of the system to allow any air bubbles to escape.

The tubes went to the old Dominus. He had been attached with stainless steel bands to a pair of I-beams crossing the rear of the cockpit. He looked as if he had been crucified. The eight probe cables were still deep in the old Dominus’ back, on either side of the vertical I-beam.

The new Dominus closed the air-release valve and turned on the preservative solution pump. The new weapons would be ready soon. It was amazing what you could get done in Paradigm through the application of fear and money.

He looked complacently at the old Dominus. Other Megadeuses had a core memory.

He had something better.

**[To Be Continued]**


	7. Act 33: Heaven's Day Mayhem

**Act 33: Heaven’s Day Mayhem**

Sparks shot out of R. Emily’s damaged knee with every step, creating stray currents that stiffened her whole body, making her lurch. She moved down the alley as quickly as she could. It was the middle of the night and no one was out. It was sleeting; she was soaked.

She had been unearthed only yesterday. She must have been buried in the rubble for ages. Something was wrong with her memories. She knew only her first name. What had awakened her? Had the men done that, or had she done it herself? She couldn’t recall.

They didn’t know she was awake. She had lain very still and listened. She hated what she heard. The good ones always talked about defense, about protection, about trying not to do harm. These were the other kind. They talked about dominance and mastery and remaking the world in their own image. They knew something of her function. They were delighted to have found her. They had plans. That could only mean that there was a crazed Megadeus in her future if she didn’t escape. She fled the moment their backs were turned.

A particularly powerful discharge from her knee pitched her to the ground. She had a sudden memory of her Megadeus and her Dominus. For a moment she was so overwhelmed that she couldn’t move. Where were they? She longed for them, yet she couldn’t remember their names or faces.

She recognized the city as Paradigm, but it wasn’t _her_ Paradigm. The domes in the distance were new. Some of the buildings seemed newer than they ought to be; many were older. Some were missing. She got to her feet.

Where was she going?

She was disheveled and clad only in a stolen yellow raincoat. The sparking knee and its consequences would prevent her from passing for human. She was dimly aware that under better circumstances she not only passed for human, but turned heads. Not tonight. Her long black hair was a mess, and her face probably wasn’t much better. She made a variety of unpleasant mechanical noise when she moved.

The sky was lightening. Soon it would be dawn, and there would be people everywhere, in spite of the weather. She needed to get dry and out of sight. If she were dry, maybe she could do something about the short-circuit in her knee.

She closed her eyes and relaxed slowly. After a few minutes, she felt sure there was an entrance to the Underground a couple of blocks away. Or there had been, once.

Dripping water, she limped through the sleet in that direction.

*  *  *

Roger was working with an insurance company to ransom a stolen necklace worth half a million dollars. He and Dorothy were meeting with the company’s representatives in their offices inside Paradigm Main Dome, where it was a bright, sunny day. Outside the domes, it was a grey, mid-December afternoon. It was sleeting.

Roger’s fee was unusually high for this kind of work, but his track record was so good that the actuaries’ calculations said he was a bargain.

Technically, ransoming stolen property was illegal. Roger had been concerned that this would bother Dorothy, who had a strong moral sense, but it not been an issue. Dorothy’s values did not include much respect for authority, which in Paradigm was perfectly understandable. She herself almost always obeyed the law because breaking it was bad manners. But nothing about ransoming stolen property gave her conscience a twinge.

Dorothy had been a big hit with the men at the insurance company, who liked her attentiveness and good manners. They knew she was an android—she never left people in the dark about this for long—but it turned out that insurance company people liked androids. The more typical androids had perfect memories, never made mistakes in calculations, and were unfailingly cheerful and eager to please, all of which endeared them to their employers. Dorothy did not, in fact, share any of these characteristics; she was too human. The insurance men seemed not to notice.

Roger had encouraged her to take an active role in this case. He would do the talking with the thieves. Dorothy took the lead with the insurance men.

She was going down her list of questions. They had already discussed bidding strategy at length. The thieves would not expect to get the full insured value of the necklace, but they expected to get as much as they would if the stones were sold individually, with perhaps the most valuable ones cut into smaller stones to make them untraceable. This was about twenty percent of the insured value in this case, and represented the least they were likely to accept. The insurance company rarely went over one-third of the insured value, as a matter of policy. Putting a ceiling on ransom values that represented a good profit for the thieves but a substantial savings for the insurance company was good business. It was better to let a few deals fall through and pay full price to the owners than to let the price for all deals creep up over time.

“Number four,” she said. “How can we tell if the necklace is genuine?”

“Ah,” said Mr. Yance, the head of this particular insurance investigation. “We have photographs and a description. Two of the stones, the most valuable ones, are quite distinctive. Do you have any experience with gemology, my dear?”

“Mr. Smith does,” said Dorothy.

“Mr. Smith, please look at these descriptions and photographs carefully, and ask any questions you may have now,” said Mr. Yance, handing them over. Roger accepted the documents and began studying them carefully.

“Number five,” said Dorothy. “What is the policy if the necklace is damaged in some way; for example, if some stones are missing?”

“Ah,” said Mr. Yance again, as he did after every question he considered interestingly non-routine. “Such damage should be treated with the utmost suspicion, as it is likely to mask a counterfeit necklace, especially if the most distinctive stones are missing. The handoff should be immediately terminated pending further negotiations, unless the damage is trivial, such as a broken clasp.”

Dorothy made a note. “Number six,” she said. “Is any attempt to be made to make the money traceable, or will we in any way attempt to catch the thieves?”

“Absolutely not,” said Mr. Yance. “If we were to increase the odds of the criminals being caught, their demands would immediately rise. They would wish to factor in the increased chance of defense attorney’s fees and the loss of income due to prison time. No, a high level of trust keeps ransom demands low. I must ask you to do everything possible to prevent clues to the thieves’ identity from falling into the hands of the police. I realize that this technically makes you a party to a criminal conspiracy, but no more so than every other aspect of the transaction.”

Dorothy made another note. “Number seven. Should any clues to the criminals’ identity be reported back to you?”

“Ah,” said Mr. Yance, smiling. “A very good question. To me, personally, yes. It pays to keep track of the more inventive criminals. At one point we were paying a highly successful criminal one million dollars a year to not rob our clients.”

Roger smiled. Beck had bragged to him about this just a few days ago. He was interested to note that Beck had reported the dollar amount accurately. At the time, Roger had thought he had probably inflated it outrageously.

Dorothy continued, “Number eight. Once the necklace is in our possession, we wish to hand it off as soon as possible. Where shall we take it?”

“During normal business hours, you should bring it to me here. You can hand it off to me personally, or any of these gentlemen.” He produced a typewritten list. “Otherwise, please use your discretion. Kindly keep in mind that telephones may be tapped, and announcing success may place you in danger. Though no doubt Mr. Smith’s residence is one of the safest places in Paradigm City.”

“Number nine,” said Dorothy. “Our last question. What level of secrecy is to be maintained afterwards?”

“That is up to the owners,” said Mr. Yance. “Normally, they would announce the safe recovery of the necklace to the newspapers. If you would like Mr. Smith’s name to be mentioned as well, or yours, my dear, you will have to take it up with them. However, I could encourage them to do so as a sort of bonus for a job well done.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Dorothy. “I have no further questions. Roger?”

“I believe we’re done here,” said Roger, opening his briefcase and placing the accumulated papers in it, including the descriptions and photos of the gems. “I expect the next call from the thieves in forty minutes at a pay phone a short distance from here. If you will excuse us, gentlemen.” He stood.

There were handshakes all around, and they departed.

“That went well,” said Roger, smiling, as they headed for the escalator. “A little more practice, and I can hand the business over to you.”

“When that happens, you can carry my briefcase,” said Dorothy. “A handsome man in a well-tailored suit makes a good impression with clients.”

*  *  *

The two men met in a dingy hotel room. “What have you got, Chuck?” asked the leader, Tamworth.

Chuck grinned. He was in his late teens, but seemed much older. He had ten years’ experience in organized crime. “It’s always the same. When there’s a call for Big O, the big double doors open and the cop on duty leaves to stop traffic. The access hatch on the outside edge of the right foot keeps working until Big O starts moving. I saw a guy open it to grab his lunch box just a few seconds before Smith got underway. Smith and his girlfriend always enter from the catwalk leading to the cockpit. They never look down.”

“How long is the entrance unguarded?”

“At least thirty seconds. Plenty of time to get inside.”

“And then?”

“Couldn’t find anything about the interior, but there’s an elevator and an emergency ladder inside the hatch. We ought to be able to step off on any level we want. If we can’t get up to the head and the core memories, we ought to be able to do something interesting with the reactor in the abdomen. There must be a main cutoff switch or something.”

“What if Big O goes underground instead of using the street?”

“Doesn’t matter. The street doors are opened on spec, every time. It’d be great for us if Big O took the underground, because it’ll be easier for us to move around than when it’s walking.”

“You up for this, Chuck?”

“Are you kidding?” asked Chuck, grinning. “It’s going to be great! Stealing a Megadeus! It doesn’t get any better than this!”

“What about Big B?”

“Still missing the torso armor, last I heard. Beck won’t want to bring it out.”

“I’d like to make more certain.”

“Well, if we put an antitank missile into the reactor, I figure Big B will never go anywhere ever again. It’s exposed right now. Hell, they open the main doors in Hangar B every day. We could peg it from across the street. Gillis knows how to handle that stuff. Piece of cake. But we could steal Big B, too. Why not?”

“You don’t know Beck. Beck’s sneaky and paranoid. Big B will be loaded with booby traps and remote shutdown codes. No point even trying.”

*  *  *

Beck was elated. The new chromebuster was installed in Big B and they system had checked out—he’d gone up to Big B’s head and tested it personally—though of course he couldn’t fire it in the hangar. Real weapons! He’d gotten a lot of mileage out of Big B’s big-bore, slow-firing left-hand cannon, the right-hand plasma lance, the net, and the shaped charges in the knees, but all these weapons had been used in front of plenty of witnesses. Everybody knew about them now. And none of them had the range or punch of a chromebuster.

Big B liked it, too. He hadn’t felt right with a broken chromebuster in his head.

Beck had been laughing and praising everyone in sight. It also looked Big B was ready to have his torso armor put back on. He’d feel a lot better after that happened.

And there was the other weapon, the one he was keeping under wraps. That wouldn’t be installed here in the hangar—it was far too secret for that.

He wished Dori were here. He was calmer when Dori was around, and she reined him in before his excesses ruined things. But Dori was all excited about Heaven’s Day and today’s business could be done easily without her, so he’d left her with Dorothy. He consoled himself with the thought that Roger hated Heaven’s Day, and being double-teamed by the Wayneright sisters meant that his opinion wouldn’t count for squat.

He made another circuit of his new Prairie Dog unit. Man, but it had been hard to talk Norman into sharing his tracks! It had been the most natural thing in the world—or so Beck had thought—but Norman was incredibly possessive of his underground track system. He barely even pretended that it belonged to Roger and not him. Beck knew that Norman was slyly digging secret extensions to his track system, using his automated equipment—and not telling Beck. Beck had considered bugging Norman’s equipment, but the old codger would probably find him out, so he was shelling out money instead to Murray Worthington, who had seismographs and other sensors all over town. He wondered who else knew Murray was selling information to. Not Roger Smith, obviously, or Norman wouldn’t imagine that his tunnels were a secret.

Beck suddenly decided that he needed some quiet time in Big B’s cockpit. He had recently been turning over some ideas about core memories in his mind, and he thought better about such things when he was with Big B. Nobody was working in the cockpit today. He headed for the elevator.

*  *  *

Roger and Dorothy walked into the penthouse, followed by Norman, who had met them at the elevator on the eighth floor. Dori was there, and hugged first Dorothy and then Roger.

“Roger,” she said as she returned to one of the couches. She picked up a pencil and the newspaper, which was opened to the crossword puzzle. “I need a word that starts with ‘L’ and ends with ‘E.’”

“Louse,” said Roger instantly.

“Four letters,” said Dori.

Roger thought for a moment. “How about ‘like’?”

“Second letter is an ‘O.’”

“‘Lone’? ‘Lope’? ‘Lore’?”

“No.”

Roger hazarded, “‘Lobe’? ‘Lose’? ‘Lode’?”

“No.”

Roger shook his head, smiling. “Sorry, Dori. If there is such a word, which I doubt, I don’t know it.”

“He’s not a louse,” said Dori to Dorothy. “He has a limited vocabulary.”

Dorothy said, “That’s a pleasant surprise.”

Roger picked a notepad off the coffee table. Its top page was covered with Dori’s bold handwriting. When Dori took the time to write slowly, her handwriting was identical to Dorothy’s, but she had a swashbuckling approach to getting the written word down on paper. Her writing as always legible, but was usually none too neat, with frequent erasures and additions crowded into the margins. Dori was also much less sparing with words when she wrote than when she talked, and sometimes imitated the style of authors she had read recently. Right now, she was reading several romance novels every day.

Roger asked, “Do you mind if I look?”

“Go ahead,” said Dori.

Roger picked up the notepad and began to read.

*  *  *

BEFORE WE FORGOT

A NOVEL BY DORI WAYNERIGHT

Before we lost our memories, the dauntless men and women of the Paradigm Megadeus Squadron risked all to hold back the relentless chaos around them. This is the tale of their deeds, and of the love that was almost enough to hold the world together.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

_General Dan Dastun:_ The lovable commander of the Megadeus Squadron. Angel’s sometime boyfriend.

_Major Roger Smith:_ The lovable Dominus of Big O. A hero. Angel’s sometime boyfriend. Dorothy Wayneright’s true love.

_Captain Jason B. Smith:_ The lovable Dominus of Big B. Roger’s younger brother. A hero. Angel’s sometime boyfriend. Dorothy Wayneright’s other true love[?].

_Captain Mike Seebach:_ The tortured Dominus of Big Duo.

_Captain Alex Rosewater:_ The despicable Dominus of Big Fau. A villain. Gordon Rosewater’s son.

_Lieutenant Patricia “Angel” Lovejoy:_ Roger Smith’s mysterious but lovable and beautiful assistant. Secretly the Domineuse of Big Venus.

_Dorothy Wayneright:_ The lovable and beautiful heroine.

_Prof. Timothy Wayneright:_ A lovable scientist. Dorothy’s father. Technical advisor to the Megadeus Squadron.

_Dr. Gordon Rosewater:_ An eccentric engineer. Secretly Angel’s Futurity Advisor.

_Big O:_ A lovable Megadeus. Teamed up with Roger Smith.

_Big B:_ A lovable Megadeus. Teamed up with Jason B. Smith.

_Big Duo:_ A tortured Megadeus. Teamed up with Mike Seebach.

_Big Fau:_ A despicable Megadeus. Teamed up with Alex Rosewater.

*  *  *

Roger looked up, smiling. He asked Dori, “Is there more?”

“No,” said Dori. “I can’t write it.”

“Why not?”

“The worst part is that Jason … that Dorothy … Jason …” Her voice trailed off. After a moment of silence she closed her eyes and tried again. “There aren’t enough Dorothies in the story, and Jason … Jason …” She opened her eyes and said, very quickly, “RogergetstheonlyDorothy.”

Roger sat down beside her and put his arm around her. She snuggled up against him. She was quiet for a long time. He knew that it was hard for her to talk about some things, and that trying was painful. This was true of Dorothy, as well. Apparently, it caused her deep distress to imagine a Beck who never got his Dori. A few months ago Roger would have found the concept inconceivable. A lot of things in his life today would have been inconceivable a few months ago.

Sensing that she had recovered, and he said, “Well, that’s a problem. Maybe, in your story, Dorothy could be twins.”

“It’s not just that,” said Dori. “Fiction needs conflict. I have to _hurt_ the characters! I can’t do it. I couldn’t even write a synopsis.”

“What about non-fiction?”

“I don’t feel responsible then. But I can’t write my novel as history. Angel doesn’t remember enough.”

Roger wondered how much of what he had just read was based on Angel’s memories instead of Dori’s imagination. Probably not much. Most of it was ridiculous; little more than a list of Bigs and their pilots. But he couldn’t resist probing. “What does Angel remember?”

“Everyone asks me what Angel thinks.”

“You think I should ask her myself,” said Roger.

“She’ll be here soon.”

He changed the subject back to her writing, “Maybe you should write about your own adventures.”

“Nothing exciting ever happens to me.” She looked up at him. “Why are you laughing?”

She suddenly bounced off the couch and left the room. A moment later the elevator bell could be heard on the eighth floor. New arrivals.

Dorothy took Dori’s place on the couch and held his hand. She said, “Roger, I know you don’t like Heaven’s Day.” She left the statement hanging in the air.

Roger tried not to squirm. He despised Heaven’s Day, which he felt glorified the Paradigm Corporation. He also knew that Dorothy liked it, and that Dori was agog. This would be her first Heaven’s Day ever. Seeing her enthusiasm, he had felt compelled to forbid the hanging of mistletoe in the mansion. “What do you have in mind?” he asked.

“I would like to throw a party for our friends.”

Roger hated parties. He especially hated parties in his own house. “Who did you want to invite?”

“Family, of course. And Dan, Angel, Instro, Freddie, Laura and Oliver, Lt. Sorenson and Julie, Kelly Fitzgerald, Tony, and Mr. Brown.”

“Who’s Mr. Brown?”

“You call him ‘Big Ear.’ And Mr. McGowan and his granddaughter Tammy.”

Dori returned with Dastun and Angel. The three of them walked towards the couches and Roger.

Roger capitulated. He suspected that the alternative would be a party at Casa del Beck, which would be worse. A lot worse. “Sure. As long as you and Norman are firmly in charge of all the preparations.”

“Thank you, Roger.” She squeezed his hand and rose to greet the others.

Angel and Dastun were talking to Dori. Dastun asked, “What do you want for Heaven’s Day, Dori?”

“I don’t want anything for me. I want things for other people.”

“What, nothing at all?”

“I have everything that’s important to me,” said Dori seriously.

Dastun said, “Some of us would like to give you gifts anyway. Maybe you could think of some unimportant things that would please you.”

Dori nodded. “Thank you. That’s a good idea.”

Dastun continued, “What do you want for other people?”

Dori looked at him for a moment, considering. Then she said, “I’d like Roger and Jason to be friends. I’d like Angel and Dorothy to be friends.”

Dastun was confused. “I thought Angel and Dorothy _were_ friends.” Angel said nothing and looked away.

Dori said, “They’re doing better than Roger and Jason. Dorothy is me, in a way, and Angel’s my best friend. She should be Dorothy’s best friend, too.”

Dastun looked enquiringly at Angel, who said, reluctantly, “It’s not that bad, Dan, really. Dorothy and I love each other. We just don’t like each other very much.”

Dastun looked at Dori and asked, “Does that make any sense to you at all?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe someone could explain it to me.”

Nobody did.

*  *  *

Beck awoke with a start. He looked around the cockpit. “What is it?” he asked.

One of the displays was tracking a blip near the stairway down to the underground.

Beck looked at his watch. 6:40 pm. There was only one shift working these days as modifications neared completion. The workmen had all gone home. The security guards were all outside the hangar.

As Beck watched, the blip passed through the locked and armored door separating the underground from the hangar. What the hell? Almost immediately, the display added a notice, “ANDROID.” After a couple of seconds, it added, “FRIEND.” Another pause, then “DAMAGED.”

“Thanks, Big B.”

Beck decided to be prudent and got on the loudspeaker. “Well, hello there!” he said. “Would you kindly move into the light so I can take a look at you?”

The figure lurched into the light. Beck peered alternately at the video display and out the window. The figure was shrouded in a voluminous yellow raincoat.

“Take off the raincoat, please.”

The figure did so, revealing a startlingly attractive young woman of medium height, with long black hair and a damaged left leg. She was nude. Sparks shot out of her left knee from time to time.

“Sorry, miss. My mistake. Put the raincoat back on. I’ll be down in a jiffy.” Beck opened a supply cabinet and took out a pair of heavy black rubber gloves and a white cotton lab coat, then took Big B’s interior elevator down to ground level, emerging from a hatch in one of the feet. He had pulled the rubber gloves on and had the lab coat draped around his neck like a towel.

“How do you do,” he said, approaching the android. “My name is Jason Beck. I’m the Dominus of Big B here. Pardon the gloves, but I see you’re sparking. He offered her his hand, and she reached out and shook it calmly.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Beck,” she said. “My name is R. Emily. I’ve forgotten my last name.” Her voice was clear and sounded entirely human, though her body made noises he didn’t like the sound of when she moved. “I am looking for my Megadeus and Dominus. I was buried underground for some time; I don’t know how long. I am in need of repairs. Also, the men who unearthed me are probably looking for me. They wanted to use me to help make a mad Megadeus operational.”

“Again?” cried Beck. “Doesn’t anybody in this city do anything else? Well, you’ve come to the right place, sister. We’ll get you patched right up. But can I ask you a personal question?”

She grinned, something he’d never seen on Dori and certainly not on Dorothy. Emily had dimples. “I won’t promise to answer it.”

“What’s in the slot in your forehead?”

She nodded, as if acknowledging that the question was reasonable. The disc tray extended, then swung aside. Beck reached into his pocket for a tiny flashlight and took a peek. Two-thirds of the way back, the slot ended in eight gleaming sockets. Emily was equipped with a direct Megadeus interface.

“Good,” he said. “Didn’t you used to have a bunch of memory chips and stuff in front of those sockets?

“I don’t remember, specifically, but that’s what we have when we’re young, for reasons I’m sure you know. It all gets taken out when we’ve matured.”

Beck said, “I think I want to take you to visit some friends of mine. Another Dominus and his android girlfriend. My android girlfriend is there right now. Dori. They’ve got a pretty good shop there, too. This hangar isn’t where I keep my android stuff. You think we should tame that short-circuit before we go? I don’t want you setting my car on fire.”

“Yes. The arcing is driving me crazy.” She rattled off a list of tools that would be required. After a couple of false starts they discovered that if she stood, bracing herself against a wall, with her leg straight out in front of her on a Formica table borrowed from the break room, Beck could work on her leg easily and with minimal danger of being shocked. Beck got her leg partly disassembled and exposed the offending section of wiring, a big power cable that had lost some of its insulation and was shorting against the metal interior structure of her leg. Beck slapped on some new insulation and wrapped the whole section neatly with electrical tape, working deftly in spite of the clumsy rubber gloves.

“That looks pretty good,” he said, after having her move her leg in all directions while he monitored a voltmeter. “But there’s some crud and corrosion in there, and you must be low on oil to be making that kind of racket.” He smiled at her to show he didn’t mean it personally.

Emily patted him on the shoulder. “This will do for the moment. Thank you, Mr. Beck.”

“Just Beck. No mister. Oh, and give this lab coat a try. The raincoat doesn’t suit you.”

She said, “If your girl Dori is the least bit jealous, you should turn your back.”

“Naw, she isn’t, not at all,” he said, grinning.

“Turn your back.”

“Oh, all right.”

After a short time she said, “You can turn around now.”

She looked good in a too-big lab coat, and no doubt would look a lot better after she’d had time to wash up. Beck offered her his arm and, leaning on it rather heavily, she allowed him to lead her to his car.

*  *  *

Roger was listening to Angel and Dastun’s animated discussion of their after-lunch target-shooting session at the local range. They had been using pop-up targets. They hadn’t turned in the highest scores of those people present, but they’d been careful to avoid shooting targets before they’d identified them. A lot of the other shooters would blaze away gaily and targets as soon as they popped up, and then learn that they had plugged little old ladies or mothers pushing strollers.

The usual crowd of avid shooters had been there, and they had all trooped off for the traditional lunch consisting of huge slabs of meat, which somehow was an essential part of target practice. They had heard a number of entertaining stories over the meal, which they recounted, suitably embroidered, to Roger.

Dorothy walked up to Roger and put her hand on his arm. “Time to go,” she said.

Roger checked his watch. “So it is. If you’ll excuse me, we have an artwork to ransom. We should be back in time for dinner at eight.”

As they drove away, they saw a nondescript sedan with dark tinted glass go by in the other direction. “Was the Beck?” asked Roger.

“It looks like one of his cars,” said Dorothy.

They soon reached the rendezvous site. Unlike Beck, who drove the most generic cars possible, so he could not be spotted with certainty, Roger always drove his custom-built Griffon to handoffs with crooks. There wasn’t another car like it in the city. Crooks were always nervous at handoffs, and seeing the distinctive car they expected was reassuring to them. They also knew that Roger had a special relationship with the Military Police, through his friendship with General Dastun, and with the city, because of Big O, and that everyone had semi-official orders to look the other way where Roger’s negotiating work was concerned.

Criminals valued people with connections with City Hall, and Roger had been so overwhelmed with work that he had felt compelled to raise his fees three times in the last few months, to discourage everyone who didn’t absolutely require Roger Smith personally. Even so, business was brisk. Bringing Dorothy along was no longer optional; there was far too much work for him to do alone. Besides, she was alert to many things that he overlooked, and vice versa. They were so unlike each other that they made a great team. And they took a deep satisfaction in working together.

For once, the handoff wasn’t in an abandoned warehouse, but was downtown, under the domes. The meeting place was a classroom at a small private school, now closed for the holidays. The school occupied half of one floor of a fairly busy downtown skyscraper; busy enough that no one paid them any attention as they walked in an took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. The hallway was deserted.

Roger stepped out of the elevator and checked the floor plan and his watch. They stood near the elevator for a minute and a half to ensure that they would reach the rendezvous exactly on time—one of his trademarks, and another thing that criminals found reassuring. They liked it when there were no surprises.

The door was unlocked. Roger rapped on it a couple of times, then entered. Dorothy followed. The lights were on in the classroom.

Roger smiled. “Hello, gentlemen. I’m afraid I don’t know your names. Sorry we had to retrieve Beck in such a hurry last time, but time was pressing. No hard feelings, I hope.”

Frank, a fat, middle-aged man, said, “Yeah, yeah. We knew it was you, Smith. We saw you. And you, too,” he said, nodding to Dorothy. “That was pretty funny, jacking our car up like that. And you let us get away, so no hard feelings, sure.” He reached out a hand to Roger, who shook it gravely.

They went through the formalities. The two men examined the cash while Roger examined the necklace through a loupe, comparing it carefully with the written description and the photographs. Dorothy looked on impassively. Her job was to stay alert for trouble, from whatever quarter.

The exchange was made and Roger shook hands with both men. “It’s a pleasure when things work smoothly,” he said. “Do you want to leave the building first?”

“Don’t worry about us,” said Frank. “Leave whenever you like. But first, I got something to tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

“First thing: Everybody knows Beck has a Megadeus. Everybody knows where Hangar B is. Somebody ought to tell him.”

“I’ll pass that along,” said Roger.

“Second thing: Somebody’s trying to find Megadeuses under the city. We don’t know who, but it’s not anybody we’d trust.”

“Who would you trust?” asked Dorothy.

“You, the Military Police, maybe even Beck, now that he’s gone straight. People who like things to run smoothly. But it isn’t anybody we know, and we’re afraid it’s another nut case like Rosewater or Schwarzwald. I got a wife and kids.”

Roger asked, “What can you tell me?”

“I have two entrances to the underground they seem to be using.” He handed over a slip of paper. “And some guys we don’t know got drunk in the Speakeasy a couple of nights ago and babbled about Megadeuses and core memories. I got this second-hand, but Big Ear probably heard every word. He usually does.”

Roger said, “Thanks, guys. I’ll look into it. And I didn’t hear a word from you.”

Frank nodded.

Harry, a thin older guy, said, “And tell Beck we ain’t looking for him. He would have helped us if you hadn’t sprung him. It was just one of those things.”

“I’ll tell him.”

*  *  *

Norman and Beck were finishing repairs to Emily’s knee down in the android repair area of Big O’s hangar. Dori was working on Emily’s arms, blowing out any lingering crud with compressed air, then applying solvents, degreasers, lubricants, and other liquids with great care to bearings and linkages, using cloth pads to intercept any drips before they happened.

Emily was talking cheerfully. “One has to wonder about the people who designed androids,” she was saying. “I mean, using titanium and motors and hydraulics to make imitation men and women? I’m told that there are synthetics that can contract like human muscle cells. Apparently it’s possible to make an android that’s a lot more human under the skin. Really, we’re just miniaturized Megadeuses in disguise. Except for our minds, of course, which are mostly human.”

“Which bearing is this?” Dori interrupted. “Three fifty-one?”

“That’s right.”

“Bearing 351 needs replacement,” said Dori, writing this down.

Beck asked, “What’s the tally?”

“Twenty-six parts with the same designation as mine, three that are different,” said Dori.

Beck nodded. “Same design, different revision.”

“Why are you so short?” asked Emily. “You probably aren’t tall enough to operate some kinds of equipment.”

“The human Dorothy was this size,” said Dori.

“The manufacturer did custom tooling to match each individual?” asked Emily in surprise.

“My father wanted to bring his dead daughter back to life. He hadn’t built any previous androids, so all his tooling was custom,” explained Dori.

“I’d like to meet him,” said Emily. “He does excellent work.”

“Thank you. He’s dead. “

“I’m sorry.”

“It was very tragic. Jason was responsible. It was before he was reformed by his hopeless love for Dorothy. I’ll write a romance about it some day.”

Emily looked around, taking in Norman’s absolutely blank face, Dori’s serious expression, and Beck, who seemed to be displaying every conceivable emotion at the same time, though embarrassment and fondness seemed the dominant themes. “I can’t wait to read it.”

*  *  *

The party was a week later, two days before Heaven’s Day. It started at six to accommodate little Tammy McGowan, who had an early bedtime. Norman opened the front door to admit Dastun and Angel, who arrived bearing armloads of gifts. They were late; Dastun had some last-minute business keeping him late at the office, and Angel had taken the opportunity to do some last-minute shopping, so she had made him later still.

“Good evening, General, Miss Angel. Lt. Sorenson and Miss Julie are already here.” Norman relieved Angel of some of her packages and turned towards the elevator when his watch beeped. At the same time, a shout came out of the police office on the ground floor. “General? Is that you?”

The police message was delivered more or less simultaneously over the watch and by shouts. Something, possibly a Megadeus, had emerged from the river to the north of the city, and was walking around. So far, it had reversed course once. No real damage had been done.

Dastun swore. “Not during the party! Who’s on duty? Billings? Tell him that it’s probably either a trap or a diversion, so he shouldn’t rush in. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Damn! Maybe Roger and Beck can flip a coin over this one.” He set his packages on the floor. So did Angel and Norman.

“No, sir, they will almost certainly both wish to be there. Master Roger especially, since he dislikes parties.”

To underscore this, there was a rumble as the big doors to the street started to open.

By unspoken agreement, the three turned and opened the armored door to the hangar. Not that there was likely anything for them to do, but you never knew, and Big O getting underway was always worth watching.

As the stepped onto the landing to the stairs descending to the hangar floor, they saw four men rush in through the open doors and race towards Big O. Dastun’s policeman’s reflexes had him running after them almost before he’d taken in the situation. Norman and Angel followed.

The four men reached Big O’s foot, opened an access panel, and operated the control that opened a hatch in the foot. They went inside and began to climb the emergency ladder.

Dastun glanced up to see Dorothy and Roger racing down the catwalk to Big O’s cockpit. This was going to be close. He put on a burst of speed.

He and Angel made it inside without any trouble, but the hatch closed automatically as Norman was coming through. Both Dastun and Angel grabbed him and almost hurled him inside, but the tail of his long coat was caught in the hatchway. Norman pulled at it once and decided that it wasn’t going to come loose, so he grabbed the front of his coat and burst all the buttons in a single movement. In a moment, the coat was off, revealing his twin shoulder holsters.

In the meantime, Big O had gotten underway. Fortunately for them, he was using the Prairie Dog, and the motion was fairly smooth. In a few seconds, Big O had tilted ninety degrees onto his back, making both the elevator and the emergency ladder problematical. But the front of the elevator shaft was now horizontal.

They boosted each other up to it. No sign of the four men.

“Norman!” hissed Angel, her pistol in her hand.

“Yes, miss?”

“I’ve never been able to shoot anybody. Not ever.”

“Now would be a good time to start, miss.”

Dastun asked, “Is it safe to use firearms inside Big O?”

“Not to us, sir. Ricochets and cut electrical cables might prove hazardous. To Big O, the risk is nonexistent.”

Angel tried to contact Roger using her watch. “There’s no signal!”

“Big O is well shielded, miss.”

“Any sign of those guys?”

“No, miss. We should assume they are climbing. There is nothing for them here in the leg.”

They kept on moving.

*  *  *

When the call came through to the penthouse, Roger shouted the news to Beck.

Beck said, “Whoops! Sorry, all, but I’ve gotta run. Come on, Dori.”

Dori turned to Emily. “Come with us.”

Emily smiled, “Three’s a crowd.”

“It’s four, with Big B. Come on, you can give me pointers.”

Emily looked at Beck, “All right with you?”

“Don’t just stand there yapping! We’ve got work to do! Come or stay, whichever you like. Come _on_ , Dori!” Beck grabbed Dori’s hand and urged her into motion. Emily followed. She was moving almost silently now that she’d had some maintenance.

They took Norman’s kitchen escape chute to the hangar floor, with Beck prudently announcing, “Ladies first,” to eliminate the possibility of being brained by android women from above.

Big O was already gone and the hangar doors were closed again. Beck was not fooled; the Prairie Dog was gone, too. He led the way to Norman’s fastest railcar. Soon they were speeding towards Big B.

*  *  *

Angel found herself in the lead; she was fitter than the other two. They had made it up Big O’s leg and now had a choice of directions: there were a lot of narrow ladders and catwalks inside Big O to facilitate maintenance. With Big O on his back in the Prairie Dog, progress was slow. She saw a scrap of cloth flutter; someone had left a piece of trouser leg on a sharp protrusion from some unguessable machine. She pointed the direction to the others. The would take them right to … all right, admit it! Right to Big O’s crotch, with the other leg further on, the reactor above, and all the weapons even higher still. She started working her way in that direction. She hoped she’d be able to shoot to save her own life.

Big O suddenly began to lurch. The Prairie Dog was rotating him back to vertical. Angel hung on with one hand and grabbed Dastun, who had very nearly lost his footing. Norman, perhaps more at home with this sort of thing, seemed quite comfortable.

Norman called, “Hang on very tightly!”

There was an enormous acceleration that hit as soon as Big O was upright, then an equally powerful deceleration as he burst through the ground. Angel felt as if she’d been compressed and stretched like a concertina.

Norman said, “Things will be very rough from now on. Hold on to something secure with at least one hand at all times, and be careful of your footing as well. We will have to move very slowly.”

They crept towards the center of Big O.

*  *  *

The doors opened on Hangar B, giving a wonderful view of Big B and his exposed torso. The golden globe of the reactor took up about half Big B’s abdomen. It gleamed in the bright hangar lights.

Gillis had his shoulder-launched anti-tank missile ready. He got out of the car on the passenger side. The upward angle of the shot meant that he could shoot right over the roof of the car, making it less likely that he would be seen before firing or shot afterwards. He took careful aim and pulled the trigger.

The missile flew straight and true, hitting the reactor dead-center. A flash and cloud of smoke briefly obscured the view, then it cleared enough to show Big B sagging limply from the gantry. Success!

Something wasn’t right. Gillis stared. Large portions of Big B were hanging down in tatters and … flapping? Gillis tried to take in the scene for a long moment, then suddenly dived into the car. “Let’s get out of here!” It had been nothing but an inflated decoy.

Chuck hit the accelerator and they peeled out. Police were soon on their tail. They managed to stay ahead of the cops for about ten minutes—it was hard for the police to barricade the warrens of streets here at the edge of town—but all at once something massive was coming down on top of them.

The heel of Big B’s right foot hit the ground in front of them, and they hurtled into the wedge-shaped space between the heel and the upraised toes. There was a brief screech of metal, then silence.

A voice filled their whole world. “Naughty, naughty! Now sit right there like nice boys and don’t make any funny moves, or I’ll have to put my foot down.”

They sat very quietly indeed, and didn’t even complain about the smell of leaking gasoline from the broken fuel line. They were pathetically grateful when the police dragged them from the car and out from under Big B’s foot. As soon as they were clear, Big B squashed the car absolutely flat. When he lifted his foot, the remains burst into brief but impressive flames.

As they were hustled away, they looked back at Big B, his torso fully armored. He had been given a new coat of dark yellow paint with black trim.

*  *  *

Since it was dark, Roger was having trouble making visual contact with the target, which showed up only as a blip on his radar.

“What do you make if it, Dorothy?” he asked.

“It is a Megadeus with a damaged core memory and an unwilling pilot.”

“An _unwilling_ pilot?”

“So Big O says. I don’t understand it, either.”

“What does it want?”

“Perhaps it is looking for an android to help repair its core memory.”

“Call the house and warn Emily.”

*  *  *

Beck looked down at the remains of the car and said, “That was fun. But let’s get on to the main event. Dori, can we get there without going underground?”

“Yes, there’s an abandoned highway going the right direction,” reported Dori. “If you step over power lines at these nine points instead of knocking them down like last time, and don’t step where these three gas mains go under the road, you won’t do any damage at all.”

“Anything you say, Dori. How’s the ride, Emily?”

Emily was standing next to Dori, smiling broadly. “It’s been entertaining so far. Where were you trained, Beck?”

Dori answered for him, “Jason is completely self-taught.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Dori said, “Here come the first power lines, Jason. Time to target, three minutes.”

*  *  *

Angel said discontentedly, “Where _are_ they?” She seemed to be in charge, by virtue of being more agile and also by being the only one who consistently had enough breath to talk.

Norman answered, “If I were them, I would either want to shut down Big O at the reactor, or at the core memory. Or possibly storm the cockpit directly.”

“We get to all three if we climb straight up, don’t we?”

“Yes, miss.”

Angel peered up, but everything was obscured by the reactor. “Let’s start climbing.”

They cleared the bulge of the reactor and found nothing. “How do you shut this reactor down?”

“You open this door and press the two emergency power-off switches at the same time,” replied Norman.

Dastun pointed to the door and asked, “Are these crowbar marks new?”

Norman chuckled, “Indeed yes. It would take more than a crowbar to open that door.”

Dastun said, “Then they’ve given up and are doing something else.”

Angel nodded. “More climbing, I suppose.”

The ladder was not straight. It would go up for ten feet or so, meet a catwalk, and then a new ladder would ascend at some distance to the left or right. They were about to start climbing their third ladder after the reactor when there was a clatter above them. Angel flinched back, then let out a little shriek. Before its echoes had died away, she gave a tremendous kick. Something dark and about the size of an apple flew through the air away from them, exploding some distance away.

“Grenade,” she explained unnecessarily. She glared upwards, though there was nothing to see, since she was a good ten feet back from the ladder.

There was another ladder back the way they’d come, so they climbed that one. To Angel’s amazement, when she reached the catwalk, there was one of the attackers with his back to her, peering down the other ladder. She ducked back down and motioned Dastun, who was next in line, to go first. She felt like a coward for doing this, but she had a track record for not pulling the trigger, and she didn’t think she could shoot a man in the back.

Dastun nodded grimly, focused entirely on his task. Big O was walking, and Dastun’s whole world was lurching and swaying alarmingly. He swarmed up the ladder until his head and shoulders were above the catwalk and immediately pumped three rounds into the attacker. This was no venue for chitchat or warning shots. The man fell sideways off the catwalk. Angel, just a few feet away from Dastun, could barely hear the shots over the noise of Big O in motion.

Dan climbed up onto the catwalk to let the others get up. On this level, there was only one ladder going up. Dastun took off his coat and flapped it under the ladder. A grenade was dropped immediately. Dastun caught it and threw it straight up, then lurched back away from the hole. There was an explosion, disappointingly far from the catwalk above. Accurate pitching was not something they were going to be able to count on as long as Big O was in motion.

“What now?” shouted Angel.

*  *  *

Beck peered at the screen. “Come on, guys, fire some weapons so I can watch you on infrared.” But Big O and the target were not cooperating. Big O was stalking the target, which had made no overtly hostile move.

Beck asked Dori, “Can you make any sense of this, Dori?”

“Big O says it’s a Megadeus with a damaged core memory and an unwilling pilot. Big B says it has a damaged chromebuster that it’s trying to charge up bit by bit, but that it’s arcing internally.”

Beck said, “I don’t like the sound of that ‘unwilling pilot’ stuff. Sounds creepy.”

“Can we rescue him?” asked Dori.

“We can try,” said Beck.

Emily said, suddenly, “Use me for bait.”

“What?” asked Beck and Dori together.

“Use me for bait. The Megadeus won’t be able to resist me. He has a damaged core memory and I have the memories he needs.”

Dori said, “I thought those got taken out with your other memory circuitry.”

“No, of course not! That’s just the programming, the inhibitions, the compulsions, the overrides. Training wheels for baby androids. Backup copies of everything, too, in case your development takes a wrong turn and has to be partly reversed, or in case you get damaged. The good stuff stays. I can fix a Megadeus’ core memory if I want to. It's all there in my permanent memories. It’s one of our best talents, Dori. But I can’t cure a crazy Megadeus.”

“Not at all?” asked Dori.

“Not at all,” affirmed Emily. “Dori, don’t ever think a bad Megadeus can be redeemed by the love of a good android. The android always loses that one.”

Emily raised her voice, “You got that, Beck? Use me for bait, so we can get straight to the showdown before this Megadeus drifts into town or gets the chromebuster working, but you’d better damned well kill it before it captures me, or I’m going to be very angry with you. And try to keep the poor pilot alive. He ought to be okay if we get to him fast enough.”

“Geez,” said Beck, “you sound just like Angel when you talk like that. Okay, where do you want to be put down?”

“Right here’s pretty good. We’re not quite in line of sight. As soon as I’m outside Big B, he’ll know I’m here. He’ll probably come running. Just walk off nonchalantly like you never noticed me. Undamaged Megadeuses don’t pay much attention to androids. At least,” she corrected herself,  glancing at Dori, “androids that aren’t their pals.”

Beck stopped Big B and opened the cockpit hatch. Emily stepped onto Big B’s hand and said, “See you in a few minutes,” and gave a lazy salute to Beck and Dori as she was being lowered to the ground.

Beck put Big B back into motion and started wandering off.

Dori said, “I’ve told Dorothy the plan. Look—the target has scented the bait.”

The enemy Megadeus was making a beeline to Emily. Dori said, “ETA, one minute.”

Big O was also closing in.

Beck said, “Lock missiles onto the enemy’s torso, as a backup. But we’ll use the chromebuster to the head. That’ll be less hard on the pilot and leave us more parts to salvage.”

Dori said nothing, but Beck could sense her objections. She didn’t want to kill the Megadeus, whatever Emily said. But she never interfered with his decisions.

“I hear you, Dori, and I’m sorry,” said Beck. “I’ve been trying to think of a better way myself.”

“I know you have, Jason. Target almost in range.”

Beck waited until the target was, in fact, quite close. It seemed willing to ignore Big B so far. When Beck felt he was so close he couldn’t miss, he called for the chromebuster. Big B took up his characteristic firing stance, and the chromebuster charged up for three seconds. “Fire!” called Beck, stabbing the firing button. Nothing happened.

“Damn it to hell!” shouted Beck. “Dori, what’s wrong?”

“The button isn’t wired to anything,” reported Dori.

“What? Well, can you or Big B fire on my order?”

There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Jason. It should be possible, but I can’t figure out how to do it.” Dori sounded miserable.

“It’s okay, honey. We’ll use the old weapons. Plasma lance! Cannon! And let’s get some eye lasers going, too!”

Big B’s left hand moved out of the way, revealing an immensely wide gun barrel. A brilliant streak of fire appeared in his right hand. Beck urged Big B forward. The other Megadeus was getting awfully close to Emily. He fired the eye lasers at the other Megadeus’ knees, hoping for a lucky hit.

The enemy Megadeus took up a chromebuster firing stance. Big B raised his forearms protectively and sidestepped, hoping to avoid the beam. There was a pause. No beam emerged from the other Megadeus’ head.

“Ha! Well matched, my friend!” cackled Beck. “Sorry, Dori.” He’d promised her he wouldn’t let himself get overexcited. “Let’s lock the missiles onto its left leg. We’re close enough.”

Big O was getting pretty close, too. Beck moved Big B out of Big O’s line of fire. Big O took a chromebuster firing stance. The enemy Megadeus threw itself flat on the ground just as the chromebuster fired. Big O missed.

Beck aimed his left-hand cannon at the enemy Megadeus’ head. “Fire!” he called, jabbing the firing button. The cannon roared, and the armor-piercing shell hit home and exploded. It did not, however, penetrate the Megadeus’ head. Beck hadn’t expected it to.

“Relock the missiles on the head,” he said, just as Dori was about to announce that lock had been achieved on the leg.

Big O hove into view over a small rise, which had kept it from seeing the fallen Megadeus. With a surprising agility, the enemy Megadeus got to its feet and adopted a chromebuster firing stance again. This time it achieved a beam, but only for a second. A river of molten steel rained down from Big O’s forearm armor, but there was plenty more where that came from.

“Where’s Emily?” asked Beck.

“She’s a three hundred yards to the right of the enemy Megadeus, moving away,” reported Dori.

“Smart woman.”

*  *  *

Angel was seething with frustration. They had split up. She hadn’t wanted to, but Norman was the only one who wore a wrist-grapnel, and he had insisted on using it to get above their attackers. Angel had no idea what had happened to him. Dan had been thrown against some machinery when Big O had taken an unexpected lurch, and had been left dizzy and nauseous. Angel had left him wedged into a corner, with his belt fastened around a girder, so he wouldn’t fall even if he lost consciousness. He said he hoped to feel well enough to follow in a few minutes. Angel prayed he wouldn’t try.

For that matter, Angel had no idea what had happened to the attackers. There should be three of them, somewhere. She had climbed the ladder to the next level when she felt that Norman _had_ to be in position. At least she’d distract the attackers enough that he could get the drop on them while they got the drop on her.

She emerged at the next level and found it deserted, but she heard faint noises from one level up. Here she had a choice of ladders, and she chose one that should put her on the opposite side of her attackers from Norman.

And there they were! Three of them, one with an arm hanging limp, peering from time to time around a piece of machinery, only to be forced back by shots from Norman.

They were concentrating so hard in the opposite direction, and there was so much noise and vibration, that she could walk right up to them without being noticed, so she did. The man closest to her had a grenade stuck invitingly into a loop on his belt, so she snatched it. He didn’t notice. Holding down the spoon, she pulled the pin and held out the grenade at arm’s length.

Big O stopped walking, and a hush fell.

Angel said, “Oh, boys!”

They turned around to look at her beaming face, her pistol pointed demurely at the ground, and the live grenade held out almost within snatching distance.

“Time to surrender like good boys,” she said.

They were tempted, she could see that. And if they had brought grenades with shorter fuses, they probably would have given in. But one of them rushed her, and then the others did, too. She gave the grenade a little toss and brought up her pistol. The grenade landed on the catwalk and showed no sign of plunging safely into the distance below. One of the men reached over to pick it up, and then suddenly pitched off the catwalk. Norman had shot him.

Big O started moving again. Angel almost fell off the catwalk herself. The grenade rolled down the catwalk, to stop almost at Norman’s feet. Startled, he stared at it. Then Big O gave another lurch and the grenade rolled back. One of the men tried to rush past Angel in his hurry to get past the grenade. She elbowed him in the face, chopped him across the neck, and now that he was bent double, took a step back and kicked him hard in the shoulder, shoving him backwards and knocking him into his compatriot, the one with the wounded arm. The two fell in a tangled heap.

The grenade! Where was the grenade?

There was a muffled explosion.

“Ewwwww,” said Angel. The two men had been on top of it.

There was a sudden, tremendous lurch. Angel somehow managed to grab hold of one of the cables supporting the catwalk, which was swaying wildly. The grenade blast had weakened the catwalk, and it has separated under the stress of Big O’s steps. She looked around wildly for Norman, but he was okay. He worked his way back to stabler ground, and pointed upwards. She nodded.

*  *  *

Roger looked at the enemy Megadeus, now quite close. He had transformed Big O’s arm to expose the Thunder weapon, and had his right hand on the control.

“Any thoughts, Dorothy?” he asked.

“It cannot be saved, Roger.”

Roger spoke to the enemy Megadeus, “You’re damaged beyond our ability to cure. I suppose you know that. No hard feelings, but … bye-bye!” He pulled the trigger. The four-barreled plasma fire pounded the other Megadeus. After a few seconds, the Megadeus fell over onto its back, its head almost obliterated.

“Core memory destroyed,” reported Dorothy.

“Time to extricate the pilot,” said Roger. Then he almost jumped out of his skin as the side door opened and Angel walked in, followed by Norman. They looked the worse for wear.

Angel managed a rather artificial smile. “Congratulate us, Roger, we’re heroes. Dan, too. He’s down a few levels, resting. He banged his head. You had four stowaways when you started this jaunt. We bagged them all.” She leaned heavily against the bulkhead and then said, “God, I need a drink.”

Roger looked at his displays, saw nothing alarming, and stood up. The front console retracted and he stepped out. “Norman, you don’t look so good.”

“Overexertion, Master Roger. I’ll be myself in a few minutes.”

Roger nodded. “And you, Angel …”

Angel threw her arms around him, pointed to the ceiling and said, “Look, mistletoe!” She kissed him hungrily.

There was no mistletoe, of course. Roger was distracted for a few seconds, then extricated himself with some difficulty, and said, “Dorothy, you’d better go retrieve Dan.”

“For his sake as well as yours,” said Dorothy. The probe cables withdrew from her forehead. “Who knows where he is?”

Angel sighed. “That would be me.” She patted Roger on the cheek and turned to Dorothy. “You’re a good sport, Dorothy.”

They departed.

Norman had lowered one of the recently-installed jump seats and was strapping himself in. “Two of the attackers are definitely dead, Master Roger, and two are probably dead, but we have not recovered the bodies. They fell quite some distance.”

Roger nodded and returned to the control seat. A moment later, Beck was on the line. “Emily is climbing the Megadeus right now. She thinks she can get the pilot out, and would like us to stand by. Are you having problems? Dori says Dorothy is off-line.”

“She’ll be back in a minute, and we’ll be ready to roll again.”

The three were back in a surprisingly short time, using the elevator. Dan looked a little green, but was conscious and focused. Angel folded down more jump seats and made sure Dan was settled. She was delighted to discover that Roger had indeed laid in a supply of barf bags, and handed one with malicious courtesy to Dastun, who managed to glare at her for all of two seconds before smiling. She whispered something into his ear, and he laughed.

*  *  *

Emily climbed up the Megadeus until she reached the main cockpit hatch at the throat. Usually it was easy to take control of a Megadeus if the core memory was destroyed, provided the power wasn’t shut down. She could sense the circuitry in the hatch mechanism.

She wondered if the Wayneright sisters knew how to do this. They were nice girls, very intelligent, but they were terribly young and totally untrained. From Emily’s point of view, the two were practically the same age. She found it odd that Dori looked up to Dorothy as if she belonged to a different generation.

Emily found the lock controller and waited for the circuitry to become clear in her mind. Electromechanical, damn. She made a supreme effort and managed to energize a relay long enough to get the hatch partway open.

There was the pilot. Young and muscular, he looked much the worse for wear. She couldn’t see his face. He was lashed to the command seat with probe cables, which were sunk deep into his back.

Emily managed a smile. “Hi, I’m Emily, your friendly android. I’ll get you out of here and off to somewhere safe.”

He muttered, “Pleased to meet you. Will Henderson.”

She unwound the cables and told him, “I’m going to pull these probes from your back. It’s going to hurt, but there will be surprisingly little bleeding. I’ve done this before. We’ll get you to a doctor and soon you’ll be as good as new.” She pulled the cables out one at a time, being careful to pull them out in a single perfectly straight motion. The man gasped but didn’t cry out.

“There. I’ll help you to the ground.”

He murmured in a surprisingly pleasant voice, “Awfully kind of you.”

“My pleasure. Can you stand?” She took his hand to help him up. As soon as their fingers met, she gasped. Memories flooded her. “Will? Is that you?”

“Oh,” he breathed, “I wish it was. I really do. But we’ve never met before.”

“Your favorite number is 17. You eat ketchup sandwiches. You cry at sad movies.” she said.

“Well, that’s me. Who the hell are you?” But he said it with rising hope.

She said sternly, “You’re in the wrong Megadeus.”

“Tell me about it.”

“We’ll hitch a ride in one of those others, and we can talk later.”

“Lead on.”

She communicated to Beck in gestures, a couple of them rather rude, and Big B stretched out a hand and took them on board. Emily put down three jump seats and set Will in them sideways, then strapped him in.

“Dori, call to have …”

Dori interrupted, “… a doctor at Smith mansion. Done. Who’s the hunk?”

Emily smiled. “He’s mine. Will, Dori. Dori, Will. That’s Beck over there in the hot seat. And Big B all around us. They’re all friends.”

Will smiled faintly, but he looked woozy and probably wasn’t taking it all in.

“Stay with him, Emily,” said Dori. “Big B doesn’t have a smooth ride.”

*  *  *

The party had been dead with the entire household missing and in danger, but on their return things picked up immediately. Kelly Fitzgerald had already left; she had promised to attend four different parties tonight. Big Ear had declined the invitation with thanks. Everyone else was waiting for them.

The doctor was waiting for Will and Dan in a side room. It was the same man who had patched up Angel’s probe wounds, months before, and he dealt deftly with Will’s. Dan got a once-over, a piece of gauze over the lump on his head, some aspirin, and an anti-nausea drug. “Take it easy tonight, general. Let the young lady fetch and carry for you.”

“Good idea,” said Dastun. “It’s about time I got some use out of her.”

They went out to the party, taking the doctor with them. Angel wasn’t happy about Norman’s condition. Will and Emily stayed behind.

Both Roger and Dorothy had insisted that Norman stay seated in one of the couches, so he was telling his tale to an enthralled audience.

Dorothy was with Tammy McGowan and her grandfather, Jim. Because of her early bedtime, Tammy had been allowed to open her gifts early, and had become wildly excited over them; playing for a few moments with one, and then another, and showing them off to anyone who happened by. Now she was rapidly running out of steam, and soon would be asleep on Dorothy’s lap. Dorothy seemed quite pleased with this turn of events. She had visited the McGowans at their hotel from time to time, ever since the “Angel” had fallen from the sky. They were good friends now.

The doctor pronounced Norman sound and prescribed a nice quiet evening with friends, with Dori to do Norman’s duties, which she did willingly enough, since it allowed her to spend time with and take care of everyone.

Over at the piano, Oliver was playing his saxophone to Instro’s accompaniment. Oliver had made a hit with his holiday tune, “Jingle Bells,” that had come to him one day, and had made some money off it. He had since come out with a handful of other popular holiday tunes. He had parleyed this into a good job at a music store, and was taking a more disciplined approach to his music. He no longer inflicted his improvisations to passers-by, but usually played them quietly to himself at home. His better numbers, which he readily admitted were probably memories of old songs, always came to him while playing.

The blind girl, Laura, was no longer his girlfriend—she was his fiancée! They were getting married soon. Dorothy was going to be a bridesmaid.

Laura had captured Tony the machinist into her orbit. Tony was distracted by the thought that there was an android woman in need of repairs right here in the house, but she was too busy right now to see him. Laura asked him a couple of leading questions, and listened sympathetically and with genuine interest as he went on at some length. Although Laura and Dorothy were friends, she had found that asking Dorothy questions was like talking to a brick wall, and had not yet learned to use Dori as an alternate source of information. They found each other's conversation enlightening.

Dastun found himself surrounded by cops and members of similar trades, including R. Freddie (the android detective), Sorenson, Julie, Angel, and (for a while) Roger. Dastun and Angel got to recount their adventures of the evening, which in Angel’s case included a reprise of her mistletoe gambit, though, since Roger was no longer with the group, she victimized Beck and then Sorenson for good measure. She seemed to feel that mistletoe, real or imagined, was wasted on actual boyfriends. Sorenson’s girlfriend Julie was a good sport about it, and smiled cheerfully but declined when Angel suggested that she have a go at Beck and Dastun. Dori seemed rather put out, though. She didn’t have Angel’s nerve, and longed for real mistletoe.

The party wound down rather erratically. Dastun and Norman dozed off early, worn out by the day’s events, and were carried off to bed by Dori and Dorothy, who returned the sleeping Tammy to her grandfather.

Angel was still flying high from the day’s excitement and was careening around the party like a loose cannon. Once she sat down for a few minutes, though, she was out like a light, falling into a deep, boneless sleep like a little child, looking to be an angel in more than name.

Beck walked over with  an odd little smile on his face. He took off his suit coat and placed it gently over Angel. The gesture would have been perfect if Beck hadn’t been wearing a sinister-looking pistol in a shoulder holster under his coat.

*  *  *

After the party had ended and the guests had been dispatched home in cabs, Dorothy went to check on Will and Emily. Will was sleeping, lying on his side, and Emily was sitting quietly in a chair by his bedside.

“Can I get you anything?” asked Dorothy.

“Just convince me I’m not dreaming,” said Emily.

“I’m not good at philosophy,” said Dorothy.

Dorothy pulled the room’s other chair near Emily’s, and they sat quietly for a while.

Emily murmured, “He’s sedated. We can talk.”

“All right.”

There was another long silence. Unlike Dorothy, who enjoyed silence rather more than most conversations, this bothered Emily, and she spoke. “He couldn’t resist looking for Megadeuses. He didn’t remember anything about them at all. All that was left was a yearning. Well, he found one.”

After another silence she continued. “I don’t understand how this could have happened. I was buried for more than forty years, it seems. Much longer, I think. But here’s Will! How did it happen? Was he born again?”

“I don’t know,” said Dorothy. “Angel might be able to tell you. But I think a human is born only once. Some of them reappear from time to time, at different ages. There is a young Dan Dastun in this city, about eight years old. His origins are unknown, but he was adopted by a loving family. Roger has memories of other Rogers, from different times. He knew the human Dorothy. I don’t remember that part. It was before we all lost our memories.”

Emily reached over and squeezed Dorothy’s hand. "I'm sure there's an explanation. But you know what it really is? It's a miracle. I don't know how or why, but we have been blessed.”

*  *  *

It was early afternoon on New Year’s Day. Emily tossed her suitcase into the trunk of her car, a nondescript sedan—one of her going-away presents from Beck. The others, far more important, were in her purse. They included the all-important cloaking device that would make her invisible to Megadeuses. Beck was a genius. Emily was almost certain that such a device had never existed before. It alone made her quest possible.

Will came down the steps, walking with only a hint of stiffness. Emily grinned at him. God, but he was handsome! He winked at her.

Dorothy was there to see them off. Emily hugged her, and said, “Consider everyone’s lectures delivered. We’ll be careful. We’ll stay in touch. We’ll drop by whenever we’re in the neighborhood. We’ll be sure to let you know if any of the repairs give me trouble. If anything touchingly romantic happens, I’ll let Dori know immediately so she can write a book about it someday. Weird technology will be reported dutifully to both Beck and Norman. I will let Tony know if I find a nice android girl. I have conflicting orders about Angel and a nice android boy. Big O thinks I shouldn’t go out without a Megadeus, and Big B thinks I shouldn’t go out without _him.”_ She hugged Dorothy again and turned to get into the car.

Almost against her will, Dorothy asked, “Will you find him?”

Emily grinned. “I found Will. That was the impossible part. Finding our Megadeus is only going to be very, very hard. We’re up for it. Don’t worry about us, Dorothy. We’re in our element.” And with that, they drove off.

Dorothy watched until they were out of sight, then went back into the house. She would go up to the roof and gaze over the city. She had much to think about.

She didn’t realize it, but as the walked to the elevator, she was smiling.

**[Merry Xmas]**


	8. Act 34: Memories of Days Gone By

**Act 34: Memories of Days Gone By**

Daryl Parsons was sixteen years old. He hadn’t gotten along with his drunken mom’s drunken boyfriend, so he’d moved out. He was making a precarious living doing odd jobs and bunking with friends.

A guy came up one morning and said he needed two or three guys to help clear out an old storeroom for half a day. Daryl and a guy he didn’t know named Mike took him up on it. Ten bucks was ten bucks.

They got taken to an enormous concrete building at the edge of town; some kind of old factory, Daryl guessed. They were led inside. There was plenty of junk in the room; you could see why they wanted people with strong backs to clear it out. They were led into a side room first, to sign papers, they were told.

But instead, they were grabbed and given injections that made them groggy, then hustled down a side corridor.

Daryl lost consciousness before he discovered where he was being taken.

*  *  *

Angel walked into the living room in Casa del Beck, Beck and Dori’s new apartment, which was built into a corner of Beck’s enormous workshop at Hangar B. She had a lunch date with Beck and Dori. Beck was there, sprawled on a couch. There was no sign of Dori.

“You look tired,” said Angel.

Beck nodded morosely. “Dori’s just about worn me out.”

Angel laughed. “You should have thought of that _before_ you got yourself a robot girlfriend.”

Beck explained, “She’s just about worn me out _dancing_.”

“Never gets tired,” Angel went on, ignoring this. “Doesn’t sleep.”

Beck plowed ahead doggedly. “Roger took Dorothy out dancing, and Dorothy loved it, so now I have to take Dori out dancing, too. We’ve been out every night this week.”

“All that enthusiasm,” continued Angel. “It’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

Beck threw a pillow at her and missed. “Why do I let you hang around?” he asked.

“Dori loves me.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“And you’re so damned obnoxious that hardly anybody else will come to see you, so you can’t afford to be choosy. And you don’t mind me yourself. Where’s Dori, anyway?”

“In the shop, I think.” Beck stood up and stretched, yawning. They crossed over to the corridor leading to Hangar B. A room partitioned off the cavernous main floor had a light on. This was the android workshop.

Dori was inside. She had a tiny screwdriver in her left hand and a jeweler’s loupe in her eye. She had removed all the skin from her right hand, and all the gleaming titanium works were exposed. She was making an adjustment to something in her right thumb. She looked up and smiled. “Hi, Angel. I’m almost done.”

Angel walked up to the bench and picked up the skin that Dori had removed. It also contained some padding and most of the nerves for her hands, though some were in the joints and metal bones as well. Angel still didn’t understand how the nerve impulses passed through the skin and into the cables that went up Dori’s arms. Dori had explained it, but Angel only recognized about one technical term in four.

Dori said. “All done. Just hold that like a glove, Angel, and let me get my fingers inside it.” She slipped it on, wiggled her fingers, shoved some things around a little bit with the fingers of her left hand, and then her hand looked perfectly human, without even a hint of a seam. “There,” said Dori with satisfaction. She bounced up and gave Angel a hug. “I haven’t seen you in two days!”

“I’ve been busy. The memory-hunting racket is giving me fits,” admitted Angel.

“Well, it should,” snorted Beck. “You have special talents and you’re refusing to use them.”

“It’s not just that,” said Angel. “There’s a gold rush in the Megadeus-hunting business.”

“Really? Nobody tells me anything,” complained Beck.

“They wouldn’t,” said Angel, “because it’s all your fault. Everybody knows you scored a Megadeus, and they say, ‘Beck doesn’t deserve one any more than me, so maybe I can find one of my own.’ Everybody and his brother are out combing the Wastelands or even the underground looking for trouble.”

Dori looked concerned. “A lot of them will be killed, won’t they?”

“Good riddance,” said Beck. Then, “Sorry, Dori.”

“And they’ll be taken like poor Will if they’re not lucky,” said Dori. “And the poor damaged Megadeuses always end up being killed. Someone should be taking care of them.”

Angel nodded. “How’s the core memory research going, Beck?”

“I still don’t understand Wayneright’s notes. In theory, I should be able to make new core memories, using Dori as a template. And in theory I ought to be able to use any human personality, not just the human Dorothy’s. You could go to sleep one night, and wake up as an android—well, sort of—and the human Angel would still be walking around. In theory. But something doesn’t add up. If I can figure it out, I ought to be able to churn out new core memories for Megadeuses or androids; take your pick. Wayneright did it, why not me?”

Angel was surprised. “Did Dorothy 1 have the human Dorothy’s memories?”

“Sure,” said Beck. “Why not?”

Angel shrugged. “She’s not the type. You don’t want Megadeus to be a half-hearted fighter.”

“Dorothy 1 was designed for salvage work, not combat. Meticulous, dangerous stuff. Dorothy was a great choice.”

“Lunch,” said Dori. “We were going to have lunch. I’m starved.”

They grinned at Dori, who often used her entirely imaginary hunger, thirst, or sleepiness to move things along. They began bickering over which restaurant to go to. Dori chose restaurants on the basis of how cute the guys on the staff were. They eventually decided to go to a rib house that Angel and Beck both liked, even though Dori claimed to find the all-woman serving staff a terrible disappointment.

On the way, they decided to draw up a plan to salvage the crazy Megadeus they’d found underground. It was so wrecked that Beck figured it could be approached—at least by Big B. And Beck wanted to salvage the hangar and transport system left behind by Big Ramses, who had been destroyed sometime back. Otherwise, other looters would get there first and salvage all the good stuff.

As they were pulling into the parking lot, Dori asked, “Angel?”

“Hmm?”

“Where’s Big Venus?”

Angel thought about this for a long time, but couldn’t remember. She hoped Big Venus was safe.

*  *  *

The New Dominus was in the cockpit of Big Lazarus. The main weapon system had been repaired. He had checked out all the subsystems and the cockpit controls. It was ready for testing.

It was not an easy weapon to test, or safe, even out here in the Wastelands. All the new Megadeus hunters meant that little could be done unobserved these days.

He looked around the hangar. The other two Megadeuses hung from gantries. One was almost operational. Its core memory was partly scrambled. If he had a working one from another Megadeus or a Class M android, he could repair the damage, and the Megadeus would be as good as new.

He looked behind him, at the body of the Old Dominus, strapped to the steel cross at the back of the cockpit, with preservative fluid being pumped through its veins. They could use this technique to augment a damaged core memory if he chose. But then the other Megadeus’ New Dominus would be as powerful as he. No. There must be a better way.

Was it true that Roger Smith had a Class M android? It seemed almost too good to be true. He’d send men to find out.

*  *  *

Dastun arrived for dinner for the first time in four days. He looked tired as he took his place at the table. Roger and Dorothy were there; Angel was not. She was dining out with Dori and Beck. Norman was serving, as usual.

“How’s business, Dastun?” asked Roger as Norman served the soup.

“Brisk,” said Dastun. “I’m just about exhausted, and I’m cutting every corner I know. Sorenson even volunteered Julie to do my laundry, and I’m stretched so thin I accepted! I still can’t believe I did that.”

Dorothy asked, “Are you working too hard, Dan?”

“Yeah. I can’t keep this up. But things are bad. I can delegate a lot of things, but there’s scary stuff going on. I might as well work long hours. That way, I can sleep at night.”

Dorothy asked, “Can you tell us about it?”

“I suppose. I gave you all top security clearances a while back. There’s a lot of kidnappings going on. Mostly of young, healthy street people and stuff like that. At least ten, and maybe a lot more. A lot of these folks drift around, so nobody can keep track.”

“Zombies again?” asked Roger.

Dastun nodded. “That’s what we’re afraid of. But we don’t have any real evidence. Just empty spaces where people ought to be. And then there’s all the Megadeus hunters.”

Roger said, “There was a story about them in the paper today.”

“It’s fairly accurate,” said Dastun. “People think they can get themselves their own Megadeus. If you and Beck can do it, why not them? This is causing all sorts of trouble in the breaking-and-entering and search-and-rescue line, but it’s nothing compared with what’s going to happen when one of them connects.”

They all considered this in silence.

After a while, Roger said, “You should move in here for a while, Dastun. You’ll get your laundry done and you can keep tabs on everything from the office on the ground floor.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

Dorothy said, “We’ve hired a laundry service and a cleaning service, now that I’m so busy helping Roger.”

Dastun said, “You’re not matchmaking, are you?”

Roger laughed. “If I were matchmaking, I’d be trying to get you to hire Angel, not live in the same house with her. We always get along best when we’re working, and she says that’s true with everybody. How’s Sorenson holding up?”

“He’s pretty beat. He has to work the same hours as me. It’s supposed to be good for him, you know. Being an aide is the fast track to promotion because of all the on-the-job training. But it must be pretty hard on Julie.” Dastun considered this angle for a moment, and said, “Yeah, okay. Just for a few days.”

Norman said, “I’ll phone downstairs and tell Lt. Sorenson that he is free to go.”

Dastun nodded. “Thanks, Norman.”

*  *  *

Hilda Fletcher was a forty-ish secretary, and not the sort of person people thought of when talking about Megadeus hunters. But she was smart and fit and restless. Her husband had been a member of the Military Police and had died when the Sea Titan had run amok in the city. She was alone now and could do as she liked. She had decided that she’d like to look for a Megadeus.

She had found entrances to the underground easily enough. There were plenty of manhole covers and utility entrances, and after she’d tried a few of these, she’d found one that attached to an old tunnel with a steel ladder that went down. This took her to a subway tunnel, complete with platforms and abandoned cars. An easily overlooked doorway led to a lower level of tunnels that looked new, and were lit up.

She started exploring these, pacing off the distances carefully and mapping everything out with a compass. She was hit by the terror twice, but she recovered from it quickly, with no lingering effects.

She felt sure she’d find something important if she kept looking long enough.

*  *  *

Lt. Sorenson put down the phone gratefully and stood up. He could take the staff car home and get some sleep. He looked around the police office in the ground floor of Smith Manor. The walls and doors had been armored recently, and there was a bunker to retreat to, just in case. He picked up his hat and coat.

“Hey, Lieutenant!” called the duty sergeant.

“Yes?”

“Does the name ‘Eugene Grant’ ring a bell?”

“No, sorry.”

“Only, we just got an alert that we’re supposed to be on the lookout for a couple of guys who used to be his research associates, and keep our eyes peeled for his handiwork, and I’ve never heard of the guy.”

“Me, neither. I’ll ask the General in the morning.”

“Good night, Lieutenant.”

“Good night.”

*  *  *

After dining out with Beck and Dori, Angel started making “time to go” noises, but Beck shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere, Angel,” he said. “We’ve got plans for you.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “I’m not that kind of girl,” she said.

“Oh, yeah, right,” said Beck sarcastically. “I must have forgot. Listen, Angel, you’ve been avoiding your memories for too long. Dori and I are gonna help you get ‘em back.”

“Do I get a vote?” asked Angel.

“Sure, you can run away if you want to,” said Beck. “We won’t stop you. But first you have to let Dori look at you pleadingly and ask you to let us help you.”

“God, you play dirty, Beck!” said Angel. She looked at Dori as if she were an unexploded bomb, then sighed. “Okay, Dori. Give it your best shot. What do you want me to do? Spent a month in the underground? Let Beck electroshock some memories into me? Or what?”

Dori said, “It’s not like that, Angel. We know that you remember better when you’re underground. Roger and Jason also recall things when they’re in the cockpit of Big O or Big B. All we want you to do is try sleeping in Big B for a few nights.

“I’d never be able to get any rest in that chair.”

“Jason installed a trundle bed on the command deck,” said Dori. “It’s not bad. We think it might help you.”

“I don’t know, it seems spooky, sleeping inside Big B’s body like that,” said Angel. “Wrong, somehow.”

Dori put a hand on Angel's arm and looked up at her, “I know he’s not your Megadeus, Angel, but he wants to help. He won’t talk to you while you’re trying to sleep, I promise.”

Angel hesitated. Dori added, “I’ll stay with you if you like.”

“Oh, all right,” said Angel. “How long am I going to have to keep doing this?”

“Until you find the key to your memories,” said Dori.

“Or until you can’t stand it anymore,” said Beck. “So make her comfy, Dori.”

*  *  *

Angel kept an overnight bag in her car, with necessities like pajamas, a change of clothes, toiletries, cash, toiletries, food, a pair of shoes, two pistols, and ammunition. By the time Angel returned to the hangar, Dori had made everything ready, flipping the switch that extended the concealed double bed between the rear bulkhead of the command deck and the cockpit, folding and putting away Beck's yellow pajamas and donning the yellow chemise and robe next to it, and was plumping up the pillows.

The bed had a good mattress, and Beck had sybaritic taste in bedding—if you didn’t mind yellow. Angel had no complaints on that score.

Dori showed Angel the new bathroom on the level below the cockpit, which included a shower and everything, and pointed to the space where Beck was planning on installing two tiny bedrooms, an even smaller kitchen, and a cramped bunkhouse that could sleep four in comfort or eight in discomfort. Beck had visions of using Big B as crew transport or expedition headquarters in addition to a weapon. A nearby space would hold air cylinders and a purification system that would remove all known poison gases. The cockpit dome already had its own air system, but this new system would also protect any crew on board.

Dori had a satchel filled with romance novels, notebooks, pencils, and other means of passing the time. She dimmed the cockpit lights, leaving just one bright light to read by. She adjusted this so the light wouldn’t fall on Angel’s side of the bed.

“Do you want a bedtime story?” asked Dori.

“You’re joking,” said Angel.

“I could read to you from one of my romance novels,” Dori offered.

“I think I’ll be ready for sleep if we just talk for a few minutes,” said Angel.

Dori waited in silence, but Angel didn’t say any more. Eventually, Dori said, “Everyone’s worried that I’ll fall in love with Roger.”

Angel, who was beginning to nod off, mumbled, “Why not? Everyone else does.”

“They’re afraid I’ll leave Jason and fight with Dorothy and make everyone miserable.”

“Mmmmmm,” said Angel sleepily. She was too drowsy to take it seriously. She murmured, “What do you think, Big B?”

Big B thought the whole thing was funny. Roger and Big O were great friends of his, but they were so dull. No sparkle. Dori loved everybody and everybody loved Dori, but Jason and Big B were hers, and she was theirs. The three of them belonged together always, and there was no getting around it. Angel smiled and dropped off to sleep.

After a while, she dreamed.

*  *  *

She was on the porch of Gordon Rosewater’s farm, looking out over the wheat fields. The sun was bright, and the wheat waved gently in a hot breeze.

And there was Gordon, in his rocking chair, two glasses of lemonade next to him. Angel was standing near him, a copy of _Metropolis_ in her hand. She was wearing her best pink skirt suit.

“It’s about time you visited me, young lady,” said Gordon.

“I know. I’ve been putting it off,” said Angel.

“Have a seat. Have a glass of lemonade,” said Gordon.

Angel sat down in the wicker chair next to Gordon’s rocker and set the book down on the table. She picked up her glass. It was cold and wet with condensation. She took a sip, then said, “I can’t remember how to regain my memories.”

Gordon chuckled. “Yes, that’s a problem, isn’t it? You locked the combination inside the safe so you wouldn’t lose it.”

Angel scowled. “It’s your fault, too!”

“I know it is, young lady. Well. So you want your memories back, do you?”

Angel hesitated. “I think it’s not safe for me to go on without them.”

“Yes, that’s true. But your memories make you unhappy.”

 “Maybe it’s different this time.”

Gordon was silent for a while, then asked, “Who is in charge, the Dominus or the Megadeus?”

Angel answered instantly, “They’re a team. Equal partners.”

Gordon beamed. “Very good. Just keep that in mind, and the rest will follow.”

The dream began to fade. Angel asked hurriedly, “Gordon, is this a dream, or are you alive somewhere?”

Gordon’s voice called back faintly, “Good luck, young Angel!”

*  *  *

Dori read for a while as Angel slept, then set her book aside and thought.

No one had said anything to her directly, but they were worried that she would follow the same pattern as both her big sisters—Dorothy and the human Dorothy—and fall madly in love with Roger Smith. They expected this to happen as soon as she’d left her android adolescence behind. It sounded logical, but it felt all wrong to Dori. Big B, too, thought it was silly. Dori took comfort from that. Big B didn’t talk much, but he loved her and had tremendous faith in her, and she felt the same way about him. Did Dorothy feel the same way about Big O? Dori had never quite worked up the nerve to ask.

Angel agreed, too, bless her. Angel understood her. She hadn’t always. Dori remembered the first time she’d ever spoken to Angel...

*  *  *

She arrived five minutes early for her lunch date with Major Smith. It was a beautiful spring day. It was warm, and the deep blue sky held a few fluffy clouds, perfectly white. It was a good day for a walk, which was just as well, because it was fifteen blocks from her father’s house to Major Smith’s apartment.

Major Smith wasn’t there when she arrived, so she waited outside his door. Bees were buzzing in a few early apple blossoms. It would have been perfect if there had been anyplace to sit down on the porch or in the yard. She was wearing a new red dress and didn't want to risk sitting on the steps.

Eventually, Major Smith’s staff car pulled up and his aide, Lt. Lovejoy, got out. She knew Lt. Lovejoy by sight but had never spoken to her. The tall blonde walked briskly to the door, a file folder in her hand. She certainly looked good in uniform, with her cap perched jauntily on her head. The skirt could have been designed to show off her legs.

Lt. Lovejoy raised an eyebrow. “Another one?” she asked with an unfriendly smile. “Well, you might as well wait inside.” She produced a key and opened the door.

“Thank you. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dorothy Wayneright.”

Lt. Lovejoy gave her an appraising once-over. “Dr. Wayneright’s kid? He’s been keeping you under wraps. Go on in, it’s okay. I’m Lt. Lovejoy. You can call me Angel. Everyone does.”

  
Dorothy walked into the living room of Major Smith’s apartment. It was almost too neat, with the three magazines on the coffee table angled carefully to show that the owner wasn’t the sort of person who felt compelled to square them. Dorothy took a seat at one end of the couch.

Angel set down the file folder—it was marked SECRET—on the coffee table. She remarked, “Somebody higher up in the chain of command must have detained Major Smith. He’s always punctual when he can be. Especially if there's a young lady waiting.” Angel opened the liquor cabinet and said, “I don’t normally offer to people who aren’t old enough to cross the street by themselves, but do you want a drink? Roger keeps some pretty good stuff here.” She scooped out the last of the remaining ice from the ice bucket and mixed herself a scotch on the rocks.

“No, thank you.” Dorothy watched Angel gravely. The woman was uncomfortable. She was masking it with bold talk.

Major Smith had mentioned Angel; in fact, he’d talked quite a lot about her. Major Smith wasn’t good at talking about relationships and had not been very clear. He had broken up with Angel recently, and was trying to convince himself that he was done with her, but he was clearly fooling himself. Dorothy gathered that he and Angel had a very deep relationship that was occasionally marred by sex. Or perhaps by their attempts to treat themselves as a conventional couple. There was much for Dorothy to be alarmed about here, but room for hope, too. Dorothy wanted to be the steady girlfriend. Angel had failed in this role, repeatedly. Still, she was clearly a permanent fixture in Major Smith’s life. Dorothy wondered why.

Angel was clearly made uncomfortable by Dorothy’s silence, and continued the offensive. “Mind if I smoke? Would you like a cigarette?” she asked.

“There’s no ashtray,” pointed out Dorothy.

“That’s no answer.”

“If Major Smith wanted his guests to smoke, he would provide an ashtray,” explained Dorothy.

Angel pressed on. “So where’s Roger taking you? To the malt shop? To a playground? Maybe a pony ride?”

“To lunch,” Dorothy snapped.

“What’s it take to get a rise out of you?” asked Angel peevishly. She paced restlessly around the room.

“You’re almost there,” admitted Dorothy. Angel’s words and her body language were at odds with each other. She was fascinated by Dorothy, and a little intimidated. Dorothy wondered why most people couldn’t read each other this way. They didn’t really watch the people they were talking to, and they didn’t listen carefully, either. They spent too much time thinking about what they were going to say next, she supposed. Her father had taught her how to listen properly. Angel’s words were mostly an act, but her possessiveness of Major Smith was real.

“So has he told you about all his other girlfriends?” asked Angel.

“He told me about you.”

This clearly unnerved Angel, but she pressed on regardless. “And do you have any idea what the average length of one of his flings is?”

“No.”

“It’s not long. I hope to god you’re only in it for kicks.”

“I am in love with him.”

“You poor kid,” said Angel, mostly serious this time. “Is he in love with you?”

“I don’t know.”

Angel stared at her. Dorothy gazed back. Angel looked away first, then smiled—her first genuine smile—and looked back. Her eyes danced. “Are you always like this?”

“Usually.”

“You’re a lot like your father, aren’t you? He’s very self-possessed and doesn’t talk much,” said Angel.

“That’s right,” said Dorothy.

“You don’t look like him, though.”

“I look like my mother,” said Dorothy. “She died when I was little.”

“Any more like you at home?”

“No, I’m the only one.”

Angel suddenly stopped pacing and sat down at the other end of the couch from Dorothy. “All right,” she said, smiling.  “Tell me what Roger said about me. I’m dying to know.”

Dorothy considered. After a few seconds, Angel said, “Well?”

“I’m thinking,” said Dorothy. After another long pause, she said, “I don’t remember his words, not anymore. He told me that he had broken up with you, that he didn’t love you, that he was free. He said you were only his assistant, but then he corrected himself and said you were pals, and then went on to explain that you were friends. Close friends. Best friends.”

Angel smiled another genuine smile. “Did he stop there?”

Dorothy considered for another several seconds. “He said, ‘Say something, Dorothy,’ and I replied, ‘You love her and she loves you, but your attempts at being a romantic couple haven’t worked out.’”

Angel stared. “Oh, my god. Did you really say that?”

“Of course.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” asked Angel. “How could he say nothing?”

“I put my arms around his neck, and he kissed me,” said Dorothy.

Angel laughed. Then she said, “Dorothy, let’s be friends. I think it will be good for us.”

*  *  *

And there it was. Hilda could hardly believe her eyes. A Megadeus, stretched out flat on its back inside one of the hemispherical underground domes.

She had spent the last several hours in a daze, forcing herself to go on, drawn to this spot. She had been on the brink of collapse. Now, though, with this enormous machine in front of her, her fatigue was forgotten.

It had chosen her! It knew just how much anger she had, bottled up inside. Her husband John had been killed in the line of duty, and that had made her angry enough, but when she’d heard that the Paradigm Home Office had told Major Dastun to hold off on the attack so the Sea Titan could destroy the area outside the dome, she had been driven almost out of her mind with rage. Well, she could have her revenge now. She could feel the anger of the Megadeus, twin to her own.

As she approached the Megadeus, pictures of how to make it operational began to form in her mind. Its reactor was shut down. She walked around to the access hatch on the outside of the Megadeus’ foot. She opened the emergency panel and began to crank the hatch open by hand.

*  *  *

Daryl woke up. He felt odd, thick-headed, groggy. He tried to stand up but needed his hands on the floor to keep his balance. He tried again, reared up for a moment, and then returned to all fours. His vision was strange, too.

This scared him. Somehow, the fear instantly turned to rage, and he stopped thinking altogether. He roared.

Daryl came to himself a little bit when things became quiet. He looked around and found that he was in a pen full of horrible monsters. He became fearful, then angry. He roared and attacked the nearest monster. Once again, his anger shut down his thinking, and he remembered no more. He would never be himself again.

*  *  *

Roger finished his breakfast. As Norman refilled his coffee cup,  Dorothy said, “Beck is talking about salvaging Big Ramses’ hangar and the other Megadeus that Dori and Angel found.”

Roger nodded. “Better us than them, I suppose.”

“How do you think we ought to go about it?” asked Dorothy.

“We?”

Norman coughed discreetly. “Mr. Beck would like to use the tunneling equipment to reach the tunnel complex that Miss Angel and Miss Dori discovered, so we might explore in secrecy.”

Roger asked, “What do you think, Norman?”

“It seems to me, Master Roger, that it is only a matter of time before looters back-track Big Ramses and find his hangar. They should either find nothing at all, or an installation that is guarded by the Military Police. And who knows where the tunnel system used by Big Ramses leads? Or what it might contain.”

“Hmmm,” Roger said. “So we should lend a hand.”

“Yes, sir. And we wouldn’t want anything to happen to Miss Dori, sir.”

Roger scowled. “I don’t like Beck having such a hold on me.”

Dorothy said, “Beck would come to my aid just as readily.”

Roger was surprised. “Really?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Why?”

“He loves me.”

Roger was alarmed. “What?”

Dorothy patted his arm. “That’s why he activated Dori. To have an R. Dorothy Wayneright who loved him back.”

Discontentedly, Roger said, “Somehow I never thought of it in those terms.”

*  *  *

The New Dominus was gazed out the cockpit windows. They’d gone outside in the dead of night, to a desolate spot five miles from the hangar. It was a tradeoff. It would be best to test the new weapon as far from the hangar as possible, for a variety of reasons, but the further they went, the more likely it was that they would be noticed and followed. It was now after noon. He wanted to be able to see the results clearly.

He began to charge up the weapon.

*  *  *

Angel was having lunch with Dastun downtown, in the Military Police cafeteria. They hadn’t been seeing much of each other lately due to Dastun’s long hours.

Angel was saying, “You’d better spend the night at Roger’s, or I’m going to track you down.”

Dastun smiled, “I’ll be there. Roger and Dorothy made me promise to stay there for a while.”

Angel raised an eyebrow.

“They felt I’d get more rest that way.”

Angel smiled archly, “Their logic escapes me.”

Dastun smiled back. “And it lets Sorenson go home at a reasonable hour. And my laundry will get done without Julie’s charity.”

Angel nodded. “That girl’s a brick, but she must have her limits. If I’d been her, I’d have broken both of Sorenson’s arms by now, and one of yours.”

She started telling Dastun a funny story that Julie had told her, but suddenly stopped talking. Her fork clattered to the floor.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” asked Dastun, alarmed. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

Angel heard herself murmur in a shocky voice, “Someone is testing a reality weapon.”

Dazed, she closed her eyes, stood up, took a step forward and …

She was in the control room, a simple rectangular room with three plain walls and a fourth that was covered with an array of color television screens, now dark, and a control panel beneath. Fluorescent lights on the ceiling; a low rumble of air conditioning. Otherwise, silence. She was seated in a swivel chair.

The monitors, initially blank, suddenly lit up. The same words slid across every one of them:

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY

  
Angel felt the words of the response rise in her throat. Convulsively, she uncrossed her forearms and clapped both hands over her mouth. Shutting her eyes tight, she fought against her traitorous body and brain, writhing in her chair with the effort.

After a while the compulsion faded. The words no longer welled up in her throat. She was her own master again.

Angrily, she looked around. “Back off,” she snarled. “This is my choice, Big Venus.” The eight probe cables stopped hovering like attentive cobras and withdrew.

She relaxed. Big Venus waited, no longer pushing for control. Suddenly, Angel realized that her memories were here, waiting for her, just at the threshold of consciousness. She lowered her guard and let them in.

After a long moment, she smiled and said, “Hello, Big Venus. It’s been a long time.” After a pause she said, “No, last time doesn’t count. You cheated. Don’t be so damned pushy. Who do you think you are, me?” She smiled again.

She turned to the displays, which were now showing a variety of different views; some video, and some instrumentation readouts.

“Okay. Show me what you’ve got.”

As she studied the readouts, she dug in her purse and got out her cigarettes. She lit one.

She smoked in silence for a while, studying the screens minutely. “It’s a Mark IV reality cannon, all right. Damn it! I thought they were gone for good.” She pointed at a trace on one of the screens. “He charged it up, test fired it twice on minimum power, and shut it down. Any idea where he was? No, didn’t think so.”

She stood up and began to pace. “I hate the smart ones. Why couldn’t he just leave it powered on? We’d nail him for sure. There’s no way to trace him, now.”

She paced back and forth for a while, smoking. “A Mark IV reality cannon. He could destroy what’s left of the world in, what? An hour? Destroy it forever.”

She paced some more until the shock of this news wore off and her immediate surroundings commanded her attention. “While I’m here, there’s a lot to do, isn’t there?”

She stopped suddenly and grinned. “Hey, how long’s it been since you met a class M android? Do you even _remember_ them? No? It _has_ been a long time, then, hasn’t it? Well, I’ve met three of them. They’re all taken, and they’re girls, anyway, but still. Food for thought. I’m sick of your damned probe cables, that’s for sure.”

Angel stubbed out the butt of her cigarette in the ashtray on the console and said. “Okay. We’re wasting our time here.” She walked out the door into the short little. This level suddenly reminded her of Beck’s new facilities in Big B, and she grinned. She climbed up the accommodation ladder to the next level: Big Venus’ command deck. She walked over to the cockpit.

Angel sat down in the command seat and started running system checks. After a moment she looked up and said, smiling, “I missed you, too.”

After about an hour she leaned back and said, “You’re in pretty good shape for such an old gal. Show me where we are.”

The screens showed their location and the hangar lights came on. Angel laughed. “Well, I don’t think we need to worry about unexpected visitors.” They were deep, deep underground, in a shaft that had several false bottoms to fool potential intruders.

She stared into space for a while, then said. “Okay. See if you can find Gordon Rosewater. He’s got some explaining to do. Or I do. Either way, we need to talk.”

*  *  *

The New Dominus was furious. His diversion hadn't happened. “You’re late!” he screamed into the telephone. “You were supposed to start hours ago!” Who knew how many people in Paradigm were looking for him now?

“It was hard getting them ready. It took forever to give them their new orders,” said the voice at the other end of the telephone.

“Forget it then,” he said. “It’s too late now.”

There was a long silence at the other end of the phone. “But we’ve already started,” whined the voice eventually.”

The New Dominus slammed down the receiver in a rage. Morons. Another plan wasted.

*  *  *

The combination appeared in Hilda’s mind as she stood in front of the armored access door to the reactor. She unlocked the door, then cranked it slowly open by hand. Now all she had to do was press the two REACTOR ON buttons, set three feet apart in the wall. She did so. For a second nothing happened, then lights came on in the reactor room, and, one by one, hums and throbs started up outside. The voice in her head was much stronger now. She held on as the Megadeus—Big M—got to his feet, then she scurried down the catwalk to the main elevator shaft. The door was open. She stepped into the elevator car and it whisked her up to the cockpit.

The words formed in her throat automatically. “Big M! It’s showtime!”

She walked around to the command seat. Big M would help her operate him. She shared his anger and his eagerness. This was going to be wonderful.

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY

“Big M! Action!”

The Megadeus strode across the hangar to an enormous lift that would take him to the surface just outside the Main Dome. Hilda had only the vaguest of plans. If they could get away clean, she figured they’d make a run for it and get their revenge later, when they’d had time to choose their targets. If they faced opposition, well, they’d put up a fight.

The roof of the lift broke through a parking lot and a gas station, bursting the underground fuel tanks and starting an enormous fire. Hilda could feel the heat even through Big M’s armor. Big M strode out of the conflagration. Hilda looked around.

What the devil? There were enormous … beasts … leaping down a road half a mile from her. Five of them. They were almost as big as a Megadeus! The lead monsters extended tentacles and somehow managed to burst one of the giant panes of glass at the base of the dome, then they all bounded through the hole.

“Enemy of my enemy,” said Hilda, smiling grimly, and moved to follow.

*  *  *

Roger and Dorothy raced down the catwalk and leapt onto Big O’s command deck. “Big O!” shouted Roger. “It’s showtime!”

The gantry lowered Big O smoothly into the Prairie Dog, and they started moving towards the Main Dome.

*  *  *

Dastun was shouting into the radio from his command tank, “No, we’ve never fought one of these before. Big O has. They’re just big animals. Use shrapnel rounds, and don’t set your fuses too long! Remember, we’re in a heavily populated area. And nobody is to step outside the armored vehicles!”

His column wound its way to the Main Dome. If Roger could take on the Megadeus, he ought to be able to mop up the chimeras. They were only big animals, after all.

No word from Big B, so far.

*  *  *

Angel got into the elevator and lifted the lever. The old-fashioned unit moved smoothly upwards, the floor indicator clicking backwards from level B666. She was smoking another cigarette—she was already well over her quota for the day—and she blew smoke at the indicator. Gordon and his magic numbers, she thought. There wasn’t a single stop between here and the top, so he could make the starting and ending numbers whatever he liked. She probably would have labeled the indicator in feet, or maybe fathoms.

The bell chimed and she stepped out. This was where she, Roger, and Dorothy had ended up last time. She knew the way. It wasn’t far to Roger’s house.

She could feel her memories beginning to fade, but knew they would never fade to the extent they had before. That had been self-inflicted. One of Gordon’s ideas, along with the domes. That part hadn’t worked, but the outcome had been good, last time, so there was no point complaining. She walked towards the exit.

What time was it? She didn’t bother looking at her watch; it was almost certain to be wrong. Dastun was going to be distressed. She’s better call him first thing.

*  *  *

Big O burst through the pavement inside the main dome. Roger crossed his forearms as the words scrolled across the screen:

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY

“Big O! Action!”

Roger looked out the front windows. No enemies in sight. But one of the screens was tracking a Megadeus and five large animals of some kind.

Dorothy spoke behind him. “The Megadeus is almost identical to Big O. Core memory … intact. It is … angry, but, perhaps, not truly crazy. Roger, please, we should try to save this one.”

Roger nodded. “No promises, Dorothy, but I’ll do what I can. Tell me about its armament.”

“Missile launchers and machine guns are out of ammunition. The chromebuster is broken.”

“They don’t last long in storage, do they?” said Roger, smiling.

“No. Arm pistons, intact. Eye lasers, functional. No Thunder or Final Stage in Big M.”

“Big M?”

“That’s his name. Shall I talk to him?”

“Is it safe?”

“Perhaps.”

“Use your judgment, Dorothy.” Roger urged Big O to close with Big M.

They came closer, until they were only a couple of hundred yards apart.

Roger said, with an edge to his voice, “What’s happening, Dorothy?”

Dorothy let out a little shriek. “He _lied_ to me! Oh, Roger, I’ve been such a fool. This is one of the crazy ones. Watch out!”

Big M had leaned down and picked up a large, dual-trailer propane truck in both hands. Then, letting go of the rear trailer with one hand, he brought it around with the other like a whip, breaking both trailers across Big O.

The explosion and fireball were incredible. Even inside the cockpit, the heat singed Roger’s eyebrows. Big O was blown backwards into a skyscraper, which tilted dangerously from the impact.

Big O regained his balance and plunged forward, eager to get to grips with Big M, who raised his forearms protectively and played his eye lasers across Big O’s throat, hoping to find a weak point in the cockpit armor. Big O lifted Big M by the elbows and hurled him backwards into a skyscraper.

Roger forced Big O backwards, calling “Big O Thunder!” The right-hand control was replaced with a new one, and Big O’s right arm transformed, revealing the four-barreled plasma cannon.

But before Roger could fire, Big O lurched backwards.

“What’s happening?” shouted Roger.

“We are being attacked by a chimera,” said Dorothy.

Big O struggled and flailed his arms, but could not shake off the new attacker, nor could he bring his other weapons to bear.

“Hang on!” said Roger, as Big O leapt into the air and fell on his back, hoping to crush his attacker. But the chimera let go at the last moment and dodged aside.

Meanwhile, Big M had gotten back into action. Grabbing Big O by a leg, he whirled him around and threw him into another skyscraper. Big O struck head first, completely piercing the structure, and becoming largely immobilized.

Roger struggled with the controls. With a mighty effort, he managed to roll Big O out of the stricken building, which collapsed behind him. Big M was waiting, and struck Big O in the face and throat several times as Big O tried to get to his feet. Once again, Big O fell on his back.

A brilliant light came down from above. “Oh, damn it, what now?” cried Roger.

“Big B,” said Dorothy.

And indeed it was. Big B was descending with the aid of an enormous rocket backpack, which he used to incinerate a chimera as he landed. As soon as Big B’s feet touched the ground, the backpack detached and flew away.

Big B reached out a hand and hauled Big O to his feet. Big M closed in once again, targeting Big B this time, and two chimeras leapt at Big B from behind.

Beck’s face appeared on one of the screens. Whatever message he had been about to deliver was forgotten as he faced three foes at once. He strode forward to meet Big M, ignoring the chimeras for now, and extending his right-hand plasma lance.

Roger turned Big O and fired the hip chains, which passed entirely through the two chimeras attacking Big B. Roger reeled in the hip chains. Two down—or soon to be down. Now that they were immobilized, he fried them with his eye lasers. While he was doing so, a fourth chimera attached itself to Big O’s back.

Suddenly, warning lights started coming up all over the board.

Dorothy said, “It’s inside somehow. Tentacles! It has sent tentacles in through the joints in Big O’s armor, and they’re ripping up everything they can reach.”

Big O’s legs were becoming stiff and unresponsive.

“Beck!” called Roger. “I’ve got a problem here! The damned thing’s sent tentacles inside Big O, and I’m losing control of the legs!”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Roger old pal,” said Beck cheerfully. “Just hang on a sec. Yeah, that’s right, Big M. Get real close. Look! I’m gonna fire my chromebuster!”

Big B took up a chromebuster firing stance less than fifty feet away from Big M, who raised both forearms protectively and rushed to knock Big B over before the immensely powerful weapon could go off.

Beck, laughing gleefully, jammed Big B’s knee into Big M’s crotch and fired the shaped charge. The two Megadeuses were blown in opposite directions, both landing on their backs.

Big O had finally managed to reach behind and grab part of the chimera, and was trying to wrench it off his back. This seemed to at least distract it to the point where further damage was not being done. Big O could scarcely move his legs.

Big B got back to his feet, only to have the fifth and last chimera leap on his back. Beck was still on-screen, and Roger could see him grinning like a maniac as he called, “Dori, honey, let’s give him a taste of the new weapon.”

A pair of what looked like bright gold radar dishes popped out of Big B’s shoulders. They swiveled around and aimed at the chimera. There was an unbearable noise, and the air in front of the dishes shimmered. Where the shimmering air hit the chimera, its flesh blew away like confetti. In a moment, its dead body slumped to the ground.

“Now you, Roger old buddy.”

“Hang on, Beck!” protested Roger. “Don’t use the phonosonic device on Big O. Try something gentler.”

“Spoilsport.” Big B had maneuvered to where it was facing the chimera on Big O’s back. Big B lifted the toes on his left foot so they were pointing at the chimera. “Say cheese!” said Beck, and fired all his foot-mounted claymore mines. There was an enormous racket as thousands of hardened steel ball bearings passed entirely through the chimera and bounced off Big O’s armor. The chimera fell in several pieces to the ground.

Roger looked back to where Big M should be. “Where’s the Megadeus?” he asked.

Big M was trying to escape, but Beck’s shaped charge had caused internal damage that rendered it all but immobile. There was a longer pause between each step.

Roger looked past Big M at the so-far untouched buildings. He had caused enough collateral damage for one day. Big O had mostly regained control of his legs. Roger allowed Big O to rush forward and wrap his left arm around Big M’s throat. Then, with his right, he used the pile-driver on the head over and over, until Dorothy reported that the core memory was destroyed. Big M crashed to the ground.

Roger looked around at the carnage and sighed. Dastun’s tanks were just now getting into position. The entire battle had only lasted a few minutes. “Dorothy,” he said, “Let’s go home.”

*  *  *

Beck and Dori arrived at Smith Manor in time for dinner. Dori immediately sought out Angel, who was still in her room. She knocked, and then knocked again. Finally, she opened the door fractionally and called, “Angel?”

“Dori,” said Angel in a muffled voice.

Dori entered the room and saw Angel stretched out on the bed, her face buried in the pillow. Dori bent over and gave Angel a little hug, then sat on the bed and waited.

Eventually, Angel rolled onto her side and looked blearily at Dori. She had been crying.

Dori waited patiently. Finally, Angel said, “Well, I have good news and I have bad news.”

“Good news first,” said Dori.

“I’ve found Big Venus and she’s safe. She’s fine. She’ll be there when I need her. And I’ve got my memories back.”

Dori sat in silence. After a while, Angel glared at her and said, “You’re supposed to say, ‘and the bad news…?’”

“I thought getting your memories back _was_ the bad news.”

“That’s right, I told you about my dream at breakfast, didn’t I? Well, the worst news is that someone has an operational reality cannon, and they tested it today.”

“What’s a reality cannon?”

“It’s a weapon that collapses the reality waveform around the target area, causing it to be replaced with something … else. Usually something from the past, but not always. But almost certainly something that doesn’t have your enemies in it.”

Dori sat quietly for a moment, then said, “You told me this once before, didn’t you?” She paused, trying to remember. “It was the second time we ran into each other at Roger’s apartment. You told me about reality weapons, and how they can make the reality waveform permanently unstable, but Big Venus can regenerate the waveform for a while. You cried then, too.”

Angel was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “It’s all such a mess. It’s not like I’m cut out for this sort of work, it’s just that my Megadeus was handy when the equipment was ready to be installed. None of us thought we’d make a career out of this.”

Dori patted her on the shoulder. “It’ll be all right Angel; you’ll see. We just need to find an android to help you, and to spare your poor back.”

Angel smiled. “Maybe you’re right.”

“We’ll find you a nice android and everything will be fine.”

Dori almost bumped into Dastun on her way out. Dori hugged him in spite of his dirty uniform—he had overseen the successful extrication of the pilot from Big M and the rescue work of people trapped in the buildings damaged in the fight. “Hi, Dan,” she said, releasing him. “Cheer Angel up.” She left them.

Angel looked at Dastun curiously. “What happened to you?”

“I was going to ask you the same question. You just vanished, right in front of me.” He held out his arms.

Angel stood up and put her hands on her hips. “If you think I’m going to touch you while you’re wearing that filthy uniform, Dan Dastun, you’re crazy. This is a good suit.”

“Well, take it off.”

She glared at him for another second, then smiled. “All right, I will. Dinner’s in ten minutes, so don’t get any funny ideas. Go wash and change your uniform. I’ll be there in a minute.”

He left dutifully. She arrived at his room in a fresh outfit just as he was buttoning up his shirt. She tied his tie for him and straightened his collar, then flung her arms around him and kissed him hard.

“You seem okay,” he said.

“Okay?” she said, stamping her foot. “That was a lot better than okay!” She kissed him again.

A moment later he gasped, “Not that I’m complaining, but weren’t you going to tell me what happened?”

“I’d better give you the condensed version. Some moron fired up a reality weapon. Big Venus summoned me to her. The weapon was powered back down before we could locate it, and before it did much damage, thank god. It must have been a test run. I spent the rest of the afternoon getting reacquainted with Big Venus, checking her out, and getting my memories back. Everything’s fine, except I don’t like my memories very much because they contain so much failure and heartache.”

“So you know what happened forty years ago?” asked Dastun.

“Dan, I’m the one who _did_ what happened forty years ago. And, yes, I remember it now. But no more questions, or we’ll be late and Roger will sulk. Your turn.” She held out a fresh uniform jacket and helped him into it.

As he did up the buttons, he said, “We had a double attack on the Main Dome. A Megadeus and five big critters like the ones Eugene Grant used to make.

“My god, just one was bad enough! Five of them! What a nightmare.”

“You’re telling me. Well, Big O and Big B arrived before we did, and they bagged all the game before we even got there, but there’s a terrific amount of collateral damage and a lot of injuries. Some fatalities, too. I was left in charge of the rescue and cleanup while Roger and Beck came home early for drinks.”

“Poor Dan.”

*  *  *

R. Emily leaned against the car and scanned the landscape around them. “There,” she said to Will. “Straight ahead. Do you see that green patch?” She handed him the binoculars.

“That looks like a forest, maybe an oak forest,” he said. “That’s not native.”

“No. And can you make out what’s off to one side?”

“The brown patch? It looks like … it’s a stretch of mud flat. There’s a rotten boat and a pier and everything. What’s it doing at this elevation?”

“Try to remember.”

Will relaxed and let his mind wander. He was getting good at this. After a couple of minutes, he said, “Reality weapon. A medium-sized one, or maybe a big one on low power.”

“Right.”

Will looked through the binoculars again. “They’re always mounted in Megadeuses, aren’t they?”

“Megadeuses are resistant to reality weapons. They’re the only safe firing platform.”

Will grinned at her, the way he always did before suggesting something dangerous. “Let’s look for footprints and see if we can back-track it.”

“Right.” Emily beamed at him. Good old Will. “Our friends will want to know about this.”

*  *  *

Dastun had the lights dimmed in his room and a fire in the fireplace. He and Angel were on the floor in front of the fire. He had his arms around her. He was in his shirtsleeves, but Angel, complaining about wrinkling her dress, had taken it off and was in her underwear.

“How’s it feel to have all that power and responsibility?” he asked.

  
“Humbling. Frightening,” she said

He held her tight. “Me, too,” he said. “Only, my job’s not so big as yours, so sometimes I think I’m entitled to feel halfway competent.”

“And I’m not really up to it,” she said. “It’s too big for me. I make mistakes, and then I’m ashamed.”

He stroked her hair. “I know that feeling, too.”

“I’m glad you understand,” she said.

They gazed into the fire in silence for a while, then Dastun asked, “So how do modern times stack up with what’s gone before?”

She relaxed against him. “Right now, I don’t have anything to complain about.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you were such a sweet-talker.”

“I think things are looking up. If we can just … well, now’s not the time to talk shop, Dan, but I’m beginning to hope again. Maybe we can break the cycle after all. I haven’t dared hope that in ages.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“Well, it’s a lot of different things. But the clincher came just today, when Dori told me that she was sure that everything was going to be all right. What Dori wants, Dori gets. Everybody knows that.”

Dastun smiled. “You’ve convinced me.”

*  *  *

Dorothy put down the phone. Emily had reported their progress, or lack of it. The trail had lead into a river, and that was that. They had gone miles upstream and down, on both sides of the bank, but hadn’t found where the tracks emerged.

But the test site had to be within a reasonable distance of the Megadeus’ lair. She would tell General Dastun in the morning, and perhaps they could discover and destroy the reality weapon before it could be fired.

The mansion was silent, but it was only midnight. Roger would still be up. She found him in the penthouse, sitting on one of the couches, rereading some of his notes from one of his cases. He was still in his suit, but had loosened his tie. He wasn’t aware of Dorothy’s presence, and she watched him fondly for a while before approaching.

She walked over to the couch and sat down beside him. He looked at her sidelong and smiled but continued reading. He soon reached the end of his notes and set his notepad down and put his arms around her.

Dorothy said, “I’ve been regaining some of my memories from forty years ago.”

Roger raised an eyebrow. “ _Your_ memories?”

“I think of that girl as me now. We have more in common that I thought. We were both madly in love with you.” She kissed him.

After a while he broke away long enough to point out, “It ended badly.”

“I know.”

They kissed again. Dorothy said, “This time I’m an android. Maybe this time I’ll be able to keep you alive.”

Roger smiled. “That would be nice.” He was struck by a thought. “Angel really needs an android to help her control Big Venus, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Poor Dastun.”

“No,” said Dorothy, “not an android boyfriend. Angel’s love life is not the issue. She needs help with Big Venus. And she deserves the best.”

Roger smiled. His smile slowly turned into a grin. “You mean…?”

“We have to build another R. Dorothy Wayneright.”

**[No Side]**


	9. Act 35: Grand Theft Android

**Act 35: Grand Theft Android**

Dastun walked briskly into the kitchen. He smiled. “Good morning, Dorothy. Morning, Norman.”

“Good morning, General,” said Norman. “I trust you slept well.”

Dastun reddened slightly but said, “Pretty well, thanks.” He was staying in Smith Manor temporarily, while he reconsidered his housing options, and he had a room across from Angel’s. Everyone knew they were sleeping together; he was still felt a little awkward about this. Innocent small talk could make him blush. Besides, he suspected Norman was doing it on purpose.

Dorothy handed him a tray with a silver coffee service and two mugs. “Good morning, Dan,” she said.

Dastun said, “Before I forget, Dorothy, are you busy this morning?”

“Not really. Why?”

“I have a lead on some of your father’s stuff, and I was wondering if you could help me identify it. You’d probably be back here around ten or eleven.”

“Yes, I can go with you.”

“Thanks. Sorenson will be here at eight.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Dastun took the tray to Angel’s room. She was asleep, curled up in the middle of the king-sized bed. She was so adorable when sleeping that he just stood there for a minute, smiling softly, before setting the tray down on the bedside table. Then he passed a hand under the pillows. Sometimes she slept with her pistol under her pillow, a ghastly habit for someone who slept heavily and sometimes woke wild-eyed and disoriented. It wasn’t there this morning.

Last night, they’d started out in his room, as usual, but his snores always drove her away during the night. He’d wondered if there was a cure for snoring, but Angel was the most amazing blanket hog, so his snores were probably the only thing that kept him from freezing to death.

He opened the curtains. Light flooded the beautifully furnished bedroom, highlighting Angel’s golden hair and what showed of her pink silk pajamas. Dastun reached an arm under the covers and found one of her feet, which he tickled gently. Angel twitched her foot away. He repeated the process with the other foot. She muttered something and rolled over.

“Time to wake up, Angel,” he said. Angel curled up into a ball. Dastun continued, “I brought coffee.” He put three sugar cubes into a mug and sloshed in some cream, then poured the coffee. A lifetime spent in the Military Police had taught him not to expect a clean spoon to stir coffee with, so the cream and sugar went in first, in the hope that sloshing in the coffee would stir it up. Not that this was a problem today. Dastun picked up the mirror-bright silver spoon from the snowy linen napkin and stirred. The tinkling noise seemed to reach something deep within Angel, and she moved towards his edge of the bed, eyes still closed.

“Sit up,” encouraged Dastun. “That’s right.” She sat at the edge of the bed, bare feet on the carpet, and he placed the mug in her hands. Still with her eyes closed, she took her first sip.

Soon her eyes were open, and when he refilled her cup, she said, “You get up before I do and bring me _coffee!_ I think I love you.”

Dastun tried to say, “I think I love you, too,” but nothing happened. Well, he was getting close.

*  *  *

The New Dominus was talking on the phone to one of his underworld contacts in the city.

“That’s right, just snatch Smith’s android girlfriend. It’s probably safest to do it when she’s with Smith, in town. Bump him off first, then grab her. Then you won’t have to worry about Big O. Do it when they’re away from home. That’s right. Don’t hurt her. She won’t be able to hurt you; she’s an android. Shoot Smith and the rest should be easy. That’s right. Half a million for killing Smith, half a million for the android. Right.”

He hung up.

*  *  *

Sorenson arrived with the staff car promptly at eight. Dastun and Dorothy got into the back seat, and they drove off.

Dorothy said, “You’re looking better, Dan. Not as tired.”

“Staying at the mansion is good for me,” he said. “With the police office downstairs, I can wander down in my P.J.’s if I want to check up on something. And having my housekeeping done for me is great. I used to think perks were for jerks, but now I see it’s another way of getting senior guys to spend their whole lives on the job.”

Dastun would not have been surprised if Dorothy had remained silent for the rest of the trip, but after a while she asked, “How are you and Angel doing?”

Dastun smiled, “We’re doing great. I finally figured out that Angel needs me to snap at her when she annoys me. She needs to give me a hard time, but if I don’t respond, she worries.”

“Dori doesn’t snap at Angel, and they’re best friends.”

“Angel can read Dori like a book,” said Dastun. “I don’t think Dori ever hides her feelings. I do, so Angel prods me to see how I’ll jump. But she feels guilty if I don’t give as good as I get.”

There was another silence, and then Dorothy asked, “What do you think about this android project for Angel?”

Dan shrugged. “I think it’s obvious that Angel needs an android to help her handle Big Venus. Angel says that Big Venus is very stubborn and strong-willed, and that the period around a transition tends to be disorienting. So a level-headed android in the cockpit is a great idea. It’s probably just as important as getting Beck to make a bunch of new core memories, so we build new androids and Megadeuses, and retrofit old Megadeuses with broken or crazy cores.”

Dorothy probed, “Do you have any personal reservations about this?”

“Not really. I’ve heard Beck’s objections, but I think he’s nuts.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Dan said, “Even if Beck’s right, I’m sure Angel has enough love in her heart for both a man and an android.”

“At least,” said Dorothy, deadpan.

Dan smiled, “Yeah. But if we’re lucky, Roger can stop locking his door at night.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Well, he should.” He considered this. “Well, maybe not. Angel flirts all the time, but she’s not very successful, is she? I don’t think she’s really trying. She never tries to get Beck or Roger alone. She mostly flirts in front of other people or when there’s no time to follow up.”

Dorothy absorbed this observation in silence, then said, “What are we going to be looking at?”

“I’m not exactly sure myself, but apparently it includes notebooks of the type your father used, with his name on the covers. Also some equipment in crates. There’s supposed to be quite a bit, so I’m hoping it’s all the stuff you’ve been looking for. But it might be something else, or material from different sources stored in the same place. It’s at a secure storage facility that went broke around five years ago and was abandoned. It was cleaned out after the bankruptcy, but apparently some squatters have been storing things there on the sly.”

They came to a group of five low concrete buildings with thirty roll-up doors down each side, the whole surrounded by a high, electrified chain-link fence topped by razor wire; standard operating procedure for any secure area outside the domes. There was a gate at the entrance and a little guard house. The gate was open and the guard house was empty.

Dastun sat up. “Stop the car! Sorenson, isn’t the guard house supposed to be manned?”

“No, sir.”

Dastun swore. “When you’re in charge of something like this, Lieutenant, make sure you control access to the scene. Remind me to have a word with Sergeant Lucasta.”

“Yes, sir.” Sorenson jotted down something in his notebook, then said, “The stuff is in Bay 39, sir.”

They looked at the row of five long, low concrete buildings. The one closest to them had its doors marked one through thirty in large painted numerals.

“Should be on the back side of the first building, then, about a third of the way down on the right,” said Dastun. “Or maybe on the left. Drive on.”

Sorenson put the car into gear, choosing to go around on the right.

The alley between the two buildings was quite wide, to allow panel trucks to turn and back up against the bays. A panel truck had done just this to Bay 39.

“Sorenson! That’s not one of ours, is it?” shouted Dastun.

“No, sir.”

Dastun tumbled awkwardly over the back of the front seat and grabbed the microphone. “Dastun here. Get backup to Riverside E-Z Store on the double!” He slammed the microphone down and dug in his pocket for his keys. Finding them, he unlocked the bracket holding the riot gun.

Sorenson had stopped the car. “Back us up to the end of the row and put most of the car behind the building; everything except the hood,” commanded Dastun. “We can’t block even one end of the row anyway; it’s too wide.”

Sorenson backed up with practiced ease. In a moment, they were in position and out of the car. Dastun got back on the radio and called for an aircraft to spot the suspects if they drove off, more backup, and armor—and told them to make it snappy.

“Always better to show overwhelming force if you can,” he said.

The rest was an anticlimax. The backup forces arrived, Dastun told the suspects, whom he still had not seen, to surrender, and they agreed to do so. Four men, all career criminals known to Dastun, were soon cuffed and taken away in a squad car. The area was declared safe, and Dastun released everyone but one squad car and one tank.

“Shall we look at the material we saved?” asked Dorothy.

“Not yet,” said Dastun. “Let’s look at the scene first.” He walked slowly through the open bay, taking it in, alert for anything that might be out of place. The bay was not very full, containing about a dozen wooden crates of varying sizes and about two dozen cardboard banker’s boxes. Then he strolled around outside, up and down the space between the buildings.

“Dan,” called Dorothy quietly. He walked over to where she stood next to Bay 40. She pointed to the lock in the middle of the roll-up door, near the ground. The lock face and the T-handle had been wiped off recently; they weren’t dirty like everything else. The lock face was scratched up, as if it had been picked by an unusually clumsy burglar.

Dastun held a finger to his lips and walked over to Sorenson, and talked to him quietly. The cops from the squad car were brought over, and the crew of the tank alerted. It wasn’t brought up because its engine noise would alert anyone hiding inside.

With Dastun, Sorenson, and Dorothy on the left and the other two cops on the right, Dastun was about to send Sorenson to open the door when Dorothy walked over calmly and twisted the handle. There was a brief screech of metal—the door was locked—and then she hurled the door upwards and ran back to where Dastun was standing.

Half a dozen scorpion robots filled most of the bay. Behind them, two men were operating remote-control units behind a barricade of wooden crates. Two scorpion robots began to scuttle forward, one of them already firing its machine guns at random, though there was no one in front of it.

Dorothy raced into the bay, vaulting a scorpion robot that was in her way. She sprang over the barricade and snatched a remote-control unit out of the hands of the nearest man, who stared at her in wide-eyed amazement as she flung it away. It flew, spinning, all the way across the bay and shattered against the far wall. She reached for the other man, but he hugged his remote-control unit and said, “You can’t hurt humans!”

Dorothy grabbed a protruding corner of the remote control and, bracing herself, raised her arm. The man was raised off his feet. To keep from falling, he had to shift his grip, exposing one side of the remote control. Dorothy smashed her other fist into it, shattering the case and the components inside. She grabbed a handful of electronics and withdrew her hand. Then she gently lowered the man to the ground.

“I can if I want to,” she told him, taking him by the wrist in an iron grip. She lunged at the other man before he could cringe away, and grabbed his wrist as well.

Of the two robots being controlled, one had stopped moving. The other continued to fire at random, walking forward until it encountered the second building, then turning ninety degrees. These robots had extremely limited programming. It was quickly dispatched by carefully aimed machine gun fire from the remaining police tank.

There was silence for a moment. Dastun called, “Dorothy? Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m bringing you two criminals.” Then, almost dragging the two men, looking like a diminutive governess taking no nonsense from two oversized children, she walked out of the bay.

Dastun peeked around the corner. “Is it safe?”

“Not if they have more remote controls within range,” said Dorothy.

Dastun radioed for instructions on how to shut down scorpion robots as the other cops searched and handcuffed the two criminals. Somewhat to his embarrassment, Dorothy insisted on doing the actual shutdown, which disconnected power from the robots. As it turned out, all four of the robots that had not moved were already shut down.

“There,” she said, after verifying this fact on the last robot. “All safe.”

“Thanks, Dorothy. Sorry about that. I’m afraid your dress is damaged.”

Dorothy looked at a long rip in the skirt. She had a runs in both stockings, too. “I’m used to it.”

Another squad car was pulling up. Dastun said to Lt. Sorenson, “Sorenson, get some coffee and some food up here.” The new squad car stopped and two cops got out, carrying a big box of donuts and a box of coffee in paper cups with lids. Dastun turned to Lt. Sorenson, “What took you so long?”

The cops clustered around the refreshments, and Dastun muttered to Dorothy, “Do I offer refreshments to you at a time like this, or leave you out of it?”

“Treat me the same as any human girl,” said Dorothy, “or onlookers might think you’re rude.”

Sorenson appeared with three cups of coffee and a selection of donuts. Dorothy accepted a cup but not a donut, and began poking around Bay 40.

*  *  *

Dori walked into the kitchen at Casa del Beck, where Beck was eating ham and eggs while alternately looking at the newspaper and reviewing his notes. He was wearing yellow flannel pajamas with black trim, and, she thought, looked very good in them. “Jason, what’s on the agenda today? I don’t know what to wear.”

Beck looked up. Dori was in her underwear: lavender camisole and panties with patterns of stars and unicorns. He rolled his eyes and said, “For starters, get out of that stuff from the girl’s section and put on something more grown-up.”

“I thought it was cute.”

“Yeah, but it’s little-girl cute. I hate that on a girlfriend.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said seriously. “All right. What’s on the agenda?”

Beck looked at her closely, afraid he’d been too abrupt. She smiled gently and shook her head slightly. He relaxed and continued. “I need to talk to Dorothy about core memory stuff. She practically knows your father’s notes by heart, and she was there when he activated Dorothy 1. I need to pick her brain about Glinda and the lightweight androids, too. They were before her time, but maybe she knows _something.”_

“I’ll call and make an appointment.”

“And I really want to talk to Emily about the android for Angel. It’s just wrong to uncork another R. Dorothy Wayneright for Angel. Not that we have one.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Beck rolled his eyes again. “Do I have to draw you a picture?”

“It’s about sex, isn’t it? You think that every Dominus sleeps with his or her android.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Sometimes Beck regretted having a vivid, highly visual imagination.

Now it was Dori’s turn to roll her eyes. “I know you trust your intuition, Jason, but shouldn’t you have a little evidence, too? You don’t know anything about Will and Emily. You came up with the idea of activating me before you found Big B. And Dorothy and Roger loved each other in a previous life, when we were just a human.”

“Just a human?” asked Beck, smiling.

“Dorothy and I were adorable as a human girl. But we’re even better now,” said Dori seriously.

Beck wrenched himself back to the topic at hand, which was not easy when a scantily clad Dori was talking about his favorite subject, which was Dori herself. “I don’t care; it still bugs me,” he insisted petulantly. “I don’t do good work when I have mixed feelings. I want to talk to Emily.”

“Emily is due to call tonight at 3 AM. Let’s spend the night at Roger’s so we can be on hand. We can talk to Dorothy tonight, too.”

“Okay. And I want to take a look at the Megadeus in the underground, and Big Ramses’ hangar. We’ve been putting it off too long. When can Norman help us dig that tunnel?”

“Tomorrow,” said Dori. “He can help us all day.”

“Good. Have you talked to Angel about letting us take a peek at Big Venus?”

“Yes. She’s eager for me to meet Big Venus. She’s not sure about you. But she’s aching to get Roger into the control room.”

“What, does she think Big Venus will help her seduce him?” scoffed Beck.

“Yes,” said Dori. “Also, she has always wanted Roger with her in the control room during transitions, because he keeps his head in a crisis. She gets flustered and lets Big Venus call the shots, and Big Venus makes the same mistakes over and over.”

Beck shook his head, “Well, see if you can get Angel to let us both visit Big Venus. Pitch it as a package deal. Oh, and we should set up a new workspace for core memories. It needs its own lab area. We’ll just shoot ourselves in the foot if we try to shoehorn it into the existing space. And it needs extra locks, super-clean power, filtered air, and lots of shielding. Your dad used copper shielding an inch thick. Let’s do that, too, and use airlock doors, with interlocks so they can’t both be open at the same time. Let’s plan it out today and get the contractors working on it.”

Dori nodded. “Can I put Tony in charge?”

“He’s not a general contractor or anything.”

“But he listens to me and he loves androids and he’ll want everything to be perfect,” said Dori.

“Yeah, okay, you’re right,” said Beck. “He’s the right guy for the job. Just stop flirting with him, okay? You’re not Angel and he’s not me. I don’t want to have to punch him again.”

Dori looked away. “It was all my fault.”

“I know it was.” Beck pushed the remains of his breakfast away. He looked her up and down and grinned. “Let’s go find you some suitable clothing.”

*  *  *

After about an hour, Dorothy said, “Much of this is from my father’s laboratory, Dan. It should all be taken to the mansion so I can catalog it properly.”

Dastun nodded. “I’ll have the bomb squad go over it first, in case our friends were feeling clever, then I’ll ship it over. It might take a few days, but we’ll keep it under close guard.”

“Thank you.”

Dastun looked at his watch; eleven thirty. “Let’s get you home. It’s almost lunch time, anyway, and I’ll want a fresh uniform. Sorenson! We’re going.”

*  *  *

“Wow, these corridors go on forever,” said Sam, the younger of the two Megadeus hunters.

His partner, Jerry, said nothing. They had been hit by the terror earlier in the day, and Jerry had been slow to shake off its effects. Sam wasn’t fully recovered, either, but he tended to babble in a crisis, while Jerry became silent and withdrawn.

They had reached a level containing what seemed like an endless stretch of spooky, eerily lit corridor, fairly wide and quite tall, rectangular in cross section.

“There’s something up ahead,” announced Sam.

Soon they were on a walkway partway up one of the hemispherical domes, this one extremely large. They could see a number of round tunnels exiting the dome at ground level. Another rectangular tunnel exited on the far side, on their level. There was also a surprisingly ordinary-looking elevator.

There was equipment down on the bottom level, but no Megadeus. They decided to press on. Jerry silently updated the map with sketches and notes, and they walked around the dome to the exit corridor.

After they’d gone some distance, they saw a sketch of a pair of wings with a halo above them chalked on the wall, with a date several months in the past. There was also an arrow pointing back the way they’d come. This seemed promising. At least there should be nothing lethal along their line of travel. But they wouldn’t be the first.

Their progress was slowed by additional caution once they came across ancient bodies in the corridor, and by the time they took examining cross-corridors that contained nothing of interest. But after an hour or so they found another hemispherical chamber.

This one held a Megadeus.

*  *  *

Angel was keeping Roger company as he breakfasted. Or, as he would have put it, she was giving him a hard time. He was in his pajamas and bathrobe, while she was dressed for they day in one of her respectable pink outfits. She was wearing her glasses today. In spite of her businesslike appearance, she was flirting with him even more than usual, and had mussed his hair not once, but twice during the course of his meal. He decided to break one of his own rules to distract her, and mention business.

“Angel,” he said, “Where did Wayneright get the memories about building Megadeuses and androids?”

“Oh, that,” she said. “He was the world’s greatest expert in them, way back when.”

“You mean during the last cycle?”

“No. Well, yes; that too. But I mean _way_ back when, before reality weapons were invented. That was before your time. Anyway, the last cycle—the one that ended forty-odd years ago—was a long one, more than fifty years, and it started with much less memory loss. Those of us who had been around the block a few times regained most of our memories. Some of us regained a lot more than usual. It all just came back to Wayneright. Stuff he hadn’t remembered for ages. The whole connection between androids and Megadeuses had been forgotten.” She paused and thought about this for a moment. “Maybe they weren’t even his memories, now that I think about it. Sometimes you end up with other people’s memories, usually from people who were like you in some way. Class M androids had been completely forgotten for a long time. Even Big Venus had forgotten all about them.” She shook her head. “That part doesn’t matter right now.”

She paused a minute, recollecting. It was very clear in her mind today, for some reason. “Do you remember it at all?” she asked. “Everybody’s memories are coming back really quickly now. It was at dinner at Wayneright’s house. You were there, too, with Dorothy. It was just before she moved into your apartment, a few months before the end.”

*  *  *

Timothy Wayneright strode into Major Smith’s office. Major Smith, sitting at the desk at the back of the room, looked up. His expression instantly turned to one of alarm.

At the front desk his aide, Lt. “Angel” Lovejoy, smiled with mischievous delight at the unfolding scene. This was going to be good. She spoke. “Good morning, Dr. Wayneright. Can I help you?”

“Good morning, Lieutenant, Major.” Wayneright had been carrying his cane as he walked in, but he leaned on it now. He was only in his forties, but an old injury had left him with a weak leg. He could walk on it briskly enough for short distances, but it tired easily and he spared it when he could. Wayneright gazed for several seconds at Major Smith, who was trying to look unconcerned, then he turned his attention to Angel and gave her the same treatment.

“I would like to invite you both to dinner at my house tonight, if you don’t mind, Lieutenant. The Major will be my daughter’s guest, and I would obliged if you would be mine.”

Angel beamed at him, “I would be delighted, doctor.”

“Seven o’clock, then. There will be no other guests. It will be informal.” He cast a glance at Major Smith. “Informal, not casual. Good day.” He turned and departed.

Roger raised an eyebrow and smiled at Angel. “Another conquest?”

She shook her head, smiling. “Not that I know of. Either he just wants his numbers to come out even, or he has something to discuss with me.”

“He doesn’t want you as a chaperone?”

Angel laughed. “Me? Wayneright’s no fool. Maybe Dorothy put him up to it. She knows Wayneright won’t intimidate me, and I’ll try to keep some conversation going, god knows how, with two Waynerights and a self-conscious Major Smith as my only company. Do me a favor, Roger, and follow my lead, okay? Otherwise it’s going to be like a mausoleum there.”

“Okay, Angel. And thanks.”

“I can’t make up my mind whether this is just my social duty or whether you’re going to owe me big-time.”

They knocked off work as six. They went to Angel’s apartment first, where she changed into a fresh uniform, cursing the Army’s lack of foresight. They should have provided it with a zipper in the back. As it was, there was no plausible way of getting Roger involved as she changed her uniform. What a shame. Then they drove to his apartment where Roger shaved and changed. Angel insisted on tying his tie for him, which was just intimate enough to make him uncomfortable without giving him a decent excuse to refuse.

Angel patted his cheek. “Don’t look like that. Dorothy’s a very understanding girl. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you kissed me once in a while, especially if we didn’t tell her.”

Roger said, “Knock it off, Angel.” He didn’t say it with any heat, and from his goofy expression Angel realized, to her annoyance, that he was thinking about kissing Dorothy, not her.

Wayneright and his daughter greeted them at the door and led them to the library, where the butler was waiting with drinks. Wayneright was wearing a white suit, as he did in all seasons, and Dorothy was wearing a white dress. Angel would have guessed that such an outfit would make her look twelve years old, but somehow she always looked older than her nearly eighteen years, in spite of her fragile, pale, petite frame. Angel was delighted to see that, instead of a cocktail, Dorothy drank a small glass of milk with a total lack of self-consciousness. Dorothy’s poise and her indifference to convention were marvelous. They got Roger’s favorite beer right, including understanding that he wanted to open the bottle and pour it himself, and they had produced a scotch on the rocks for Angel, who recalled that Dorothy had seen her drink this once. Dr. Wayneright had a drink that was mostly, perhaps entirely, tomato juice.

Neither Wayneright was of much use when it came to small talk, but the library held many interesting volumes, going back to when everyone lost their records and memories sixty-three years ago. There was even a copy of Gordon Rosewater’s _Metropolis_ , which he claimed he had been commanded to write in a dream. It talked about a cataclysm that had almost destroyed the world, involving fire coming down from the heavens and the power of god wielded by the hand of man. Angel knew better than anybody what an odd concoction of fact and fancy the book was. It recalled The Great War, but implied that this war had happened immediately before everyone lost their memories, rather than in the incalculable past, all those cycles ago.

As always, the book was less than half-finished, with plenty of blank pages to drive this point home. The real _Metropolis,_ in its red binding, was always the plan for the next cycle. Gordon always felt compelled to write and publish the introductory chapters, the ones that talked about the past. The plan in the real _Metropolis_ was, of course, secret. Gordon always had a hand in these, too. Originally, this had been based on whatever memories Gordon had managed to retain, but, over a number of cycles the book had become more and more consistent. Angel would not be surprised if it were now identical word-for-word from cycle to cycle, though there was no way to check this. Even the copy inside Big Venus did not emerge from a transition entirely unchanged.

Angel pulled it down from the shelf and leafed through it. “Such an interesting book,” she said. “I can never make up my mind whether it’s unlike Gordon to write it, or whether it’s exactly the sort of thing he’d write.” She looked up the gauge Wayneright’s reaction.

Wayneright glanced at Dorothy, who said, “Roger knows.” Wayneright raised an eyebrow at Angel.

Angel was annoyed. She glared at Dorothy. “It was a secret. I _told_ you it was a secret!”

Very uncharacteristically, Angel had told Dorothy everything— _everything_ —even things she hadn’t told Gordon or Roger. Something about the girl made her easy to confide in. Angel had told it with sudden bursts of tears; sometimes of rage, more often of sorrow. Angel didn’t mind that Dorothy had told Roger, but the thought that she’d spilled it all to her father made her feel exposed.

Dorothy said, “It’s all right, Angel. You’ll see. Father is going to help.”

“Now, my dear,” said her father, a faint smile playing across his lips, “Let us observe the proprieties. No business until after dinner.” Wayneright then took it upon himself to change the subject, speaking of the new rationing scheme that made it difficult for him to get gasoline for his car, and crushing Dorothy’s plans for a car of her own, and of the increasing difficulty in finding decent coffee and other necessities. Angel leapt on this topic with observations about cigarettes and stockings. Roger and Dorothy chimed in with minor horror stories of their own, and this kept the conversation more or less general and non-controversial until the butler announced dinner.

They went in, Angel on Wayneright’s arm and Dorothy on Roger’s.

After dinner, the butler served the coffee and withdrew. Wayneright said, “Lieutenant, I’ve asked you here for a reason.”

Angel said, “Please, Doctor. Call me Angel.”

Wayneright nodded. “However, I still prefer to be called ‘Dr. Wayneright.’”

“Even so,” said Angel.

“Angel, what I am about to tell you is very secret. I am happy to tell my daughter, but Major Smith is up to you.”

“I would trust Major Smith with my soul,” said Angel immediately.

Wayneright nodded again. He looked at the other two. “Stay or go. It’s up to you.”

“We’ll stay,” said Dorothy, without even looking at Roger.

Wayneright sat still for several seconds, collecting his thoughts. Then, “I have discovered how to make new core memories.”

Angel’s coffee cup fell from her hand.

After the mess was mopped up, Wayneright continued. “Do you know what a Class M android is, Angel?”

Angel paused to allow the memories, if any, to surface. After a while, she said, “No.”

“They are a special interface between a Dominus and a Megadeus. Like all androids, they have a human personality. They also contain complete copies of all the cybernetic tools necessary to initialize, communicate with, and repair Megadeuses. The core memory of a Class M android contains everything used in a Megadeus core memory, and more. Such androids are essential for creating Megadeuses.”

“What are they like?”

“Their human personality is quite dominant. In fact, when they are mature, all the usual android overrides and inhibitions are removed entirely. They can pass for human under most circumstances, even in the nude, though they are almost three times heavier than a human of the same size. In addition to a cybernetic brain, they have a full suite of artificial gland equivalents, to make their responses more like those of the donor personality. The sole exception, besides obvious things such as never feeling hungry or sleepy, are that their fight-or-flight response is softened to make them calm in a crisis. In short, they are quite human for all practical purposes.”

Angel smiled and said, “Their sex drive is intact?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Wayneright, completely unabashed. “They are as capable of passion and deep romantic attachment as the donor personality, perhaps more so. They are physically quite capable of sex, as well.”

“And you know how to build these?”

“Yes, I believe so. My prototype is not yet complete, however. That will take perhaps six more months. I believe it will take five years before we are ready for volume production.”

Angel moaned. “We don’t have five or six years! We have two at the outside, maybe only months!”

“Perhaps my work will not be too badly interrupted by the transition,” said Wayneright doubtfully.

Angel got up and began to pace. She muttered incoherently to herself for a while. Then she flung herself down in her chair, dug out a pack of cigarettes from her Army-issue purse, and lit one, forgetting to ask permission first. She smoked in silence for a while, watching the smoke rise.

“This is going to be a very nasty transition, Doctor. Gordon has a plan. I don’t like it, but it’s new and it makes sense, so I need to try it. You know about memory shielding?”

“Yes.”

Angel glanced at Roger and Dorothy, who shook their heads. “People’s memories tend to get scrambled during a transition. The more things change, the greater the memory loss. The links between cause and effect are broken during a transition. That’s the nature of reality technology. The links between memories get broken in consequence.”

She took a drag on her cigarette and continued. “I can control this to some extent from Big Venus. At least, I can make it worse if I want to.” She smoked in silence for another few seconds. “The thing is, there are a lot more crazy Megadeuses and crazy Dominuses than sane ones. Sane ones go crazy, but the crazy ones never recover. And they all recur, cycle after cycle. The only reason we haven’t been crushed is that we can trundle out Big Venus when we lose, undo the damage, and end a cycle early. We can also scatter the crazy Megadeuses to the four winds, more or less, while we keep the good ones close to home, where they’ll get matched up quickly with their Dominuses. That buys us time.

“Not much time, though. Not enough. Everybody’s memories come back at the same rate, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. We have no advantage there, except that I can shield a handful of people by special override in the control room. Also, Megadeuses are fairly immune to memory loss, and anyone inside them at the time of the transition. Being far underground or deep underwater helps. Copper shielding works, too, if it’s thick enough. Shielding works after the transition, too. I don’t know why. You regain your memories much more quickly.

“Anyway, Gordon has developed a new synthetic shielding that can be made into transparent sheets like glass. It’s strong. He came up with a weird idea. What if we cause a very profound memory loss, and arrange things so that people will choose to live under enormous, transparent, shielded domes. Everyone inside will regain their memories quickly. If we throw out all the crazies and the malcontents, it will take practically forever for them to regain their memories. For once, we will have a definite upper hand in technology. Also, Megadeuses suffering from memory loss are somnolent for years, so we’ll have a monopoly on that as well. We ought to be able to search out the crazy Megadeuses while they’re still somnolent and destroy them, at least until the next cycle. Then maybe we can have a free hand at figuring out how to end the cycles once and for all, rather than fighting for our lives all the time.”

Angel fell silent.

After a long pause, Wayneright asked, “How will you convince people to build the domes? After all, a profound memory loss will cause tremendous chaos. No one will be interested in non-essential engineering projects.”

“There will be permanent cloud cover. The sun will never shine. The domes will have convincing projections of sky, moon, and stars, and some kind of artificial sun. People will love it. Besides, living in the domes will be a sign of respectability.”

Wayneright said, “My work must not be lost.”

“No, I see that. I’ll have to stash at least one copy where it will be safe, and arrange for you to remember how to find it, at least.” Angel drummed her fingers on the table. “I can stash whatever you like inside Behemoth. She’s not going anywhere. Sybil has renounced her role as Dominus, and anyway she’s too crazy. Behemoth won’t let her on board. But Behemoth won’t choose another Dominus, either. She just sits under the city. I can give her the memories and tell her to protect them. Underground and inside a Megadeus, the information will be doubly shielded. It will still suffer some corruption, though.”

“How much?”

Angel said, “Sybil is stuck in a loop. Poor kid. I have no idea how that happened. She used to be my best friend, did you know that? And Dan Dastun has been pulled into it too, though not terminally, thank god.” She looked around suddenly and answered Wayneright’s question. “Probably only enough to set you back by a year or two. Not much in the grand scale of things.”

“I will get my notes and plans together.”

“Good.” Angel looked at Dorothy speculatively, then at Roger. Inspiration struck. “Whose personality were you planning on using for your first android?”

*  *  *

R. Dorothy arrived at Smith Manor just as Roger was knotting his tie. She noticed right away that he was preoccupied. He merely raised an eyebrow at the runs in her stocking and her ripped dress. They kissed, and he asked, “What happened to you?”

“Someone else was interested in Father’s work,” she said. “There was a scuffle.”

“Anything serious?”

“No one was hurt on either side,” said Dorothy. She gazed at him thoughtfully and added, “You seem preoccupied.”

“I made the mistake of asking Angel a question about your father’s android work,” he said, “and I think she told me more than I can absorb at one sitting.”

“Come tell me about it while I change,” said Dorothy.

They walked down the spiral staircase to the eighth floor and Dorothy’s bedroom. She really only used it for a dressing room. She opened up the closet and pulled out another black dress, identical to the one she was wearing, with its heavy, velvety cloth and perfect tailoring. She set this on the bed and took out another pair of shoes. Then from the dresser she selected a pair of black pantyhose, a black bra, and a jabot.

Roger sat down in the armchair to watch. Dorothy was pleased. The first time he had seen her, back when he was ransoming her from Beck, he had been powerfully attracted to her, and then just as powerfully repelled when he had learned she was an android. It had taken what seemed like forever for him to get over his belief that physical attraction to an android was wrong. His combination of attraction and denial had been hard on them both. It was such a relief that he could now be matter-of-fact about his attraction, as he had when she was human. Those memories were coming back to her ever more strongly, these days.

As she took off her clothes, he said, “Did I tell you that I’ve officially rescinded the rule about wearing black?”

“Yes. Dori wants to help me buy a new wardrobe. I’ve grown fond of these black dresses. I hope you’re not too tired of them.”

“It won’t bother me if you stop wearing black.”

“Yes, it will. Every Dominus has a strong color preference. I wonder what Will’s color is? You are my Dominus; I am your android. Black is your color, so it’s mine, now, too.”

Naked now, she glanced complacently at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Except for her eyes, black instead of the original violet, she looked just as she had on her eighteenth birthday. Very attractive, if you liked pale, petite teenagers. Passing for an adult was harder for her than passing for human.

Echoing her thoughts, Roger said, “My memories are coming back very quickly now, and you really do look just the same.”

“I feel much the same,” she said, as she put on her pantyhose, “now that I’ve shaken off the confusion that Father left me in.”

“You never explained that.”

“Didn’t I?” She put on her bra, which she wore only out of respect for convention—it would be a poor engineer who designed artificial breasts that required external support—and reached for her dress. “I look just like my mother, who died when I was little, in her early twenties. That picture in Father’s house was of her, not me. She was a delightful girl with a beautiful singing voice. She had a sixth sense for when to pull my deeply introverted father out of himself and when to leave him be. They were devoted to each other. She wasn't like him at all, but I am. Father's vague memories confused her with me. He did a wonderful job of bringing his equally beloved daughter back to life, but he died without realizing it.”

“That’s very sad.”

“Yes. Dori figured it out first. I didn’t believe her until Dr. Greenlake told me the same thing.”

She finished dressing. As she brushed her hair, she added,  “You haven’t told me what’s bothering you.”

“Maybe I need to think about it some more.” Roger stood up and took her in his arms. They gazed deeply into each other’s eyes, something that always thrilled both of them in a way they couldn’t begin to describe.

After a moment he glanced at the bed and asked, “Do we have an appointment?”

She hesitated, then admitted, “Yes. At 1:30, in the Main Dome. I’ll read you the brief on the way.”

*  *  *

It took a long time for Sam and Jerry to work up the nerve to approach the Megadeus closely, though it seemed entirely inactive. It sagged from its gantry as if crucified, and one leg had been severed below the knee and was lying on the floor. There was a big hole in its chest, too. But it still had the power to intimidate.

Jerry was ashamed at how disabled he had been by the wave of terror that had struck them hours before, and, with a tremendous effort, walked right up to the Megadeus and gave it a close inspection from ground level. Then he got into the elevator car in the gantry. He beckoned to Sam, who hurried up and joined him.

The motor that operated the elevator made horrendous sounds for the first second of their journey as long unused bearings complained, but things quieted down after that, and the ascent went smoothly enough.

The gantry went across the Megadeus’ shoulders, and a narrow catwalk extended down to the throat and the cockpit. The cockpit hatch was partly open, wedged with a length of two-by-four.

Gulping a little, they went inside.

No lights, no sound, no movement. The cockpit seemed dead. Intact, though, even clean.

Sam sat down in the command seat. A Megadeus was supposed to choose its Dominus. Well, it wasn’t choosing him. He sighed.

Jerry had lit a cigarette and was poking around. Clearly he wasn’t undergoing any life-changing experiences, either.

“Now what?” asked Sam.

“I don’t think it likes us, Sam,” said Jerry.

“Maybe it’s just shut down.”

“No, I can feel it, a little,” said Jerry. “Can’t you? We’re not the ones. That’s what it’s telling me.”

Sam said, “Maybe we can fix it up.”

“You can hear it, then,” said Jerry. “Yeah, it wants to be fixed up so it can go find a pilot.”

“Well, that’s not something we can do,” said Sam. “How much do you think it would take to fix it up? A hundred thousand? A million?”

“More than we have, anyway,” admitted Jerry. “Who should we sell the good news to?”

“Beck would be good, I think. He’s a jerk, but he plays fair. Roger Smith might have more money. He’s got a good reputation, too. Anyway, he and Beck are buddies now, so it probably doesn’t make any difference. Then there’s that new guy, the creepy one. What are they calling him?”

Jerry said, “We don’t want to sell to him, he’s nuts.”

Sam replied, “Yeah, but he’s promising to beat anyone else’s offer, and he says he’ll kill anyone who sells to anybody else.”

“Forget him, whatever his name is. He’s a snake. Let’s sell to Beck.”

Sam considered this. “Okay.”

“Let’s take a few pictures and get the hell out of here. Let’s be super-careful to make sure our map is good, too.”

“Somebody found it before us, remember. The one who drew those wings.”

“Whoever that guy is, he probably died before he could tell anybody. We’re still the first.”

“I hope so,” said Sam.

Jerry took his camera out of his backpack and took a couple of flash pictures of the cockpit. Then they returned to the gantry. Jerry had two rolls of film and was going to use them both to document the reality of the Megadeus, holding back just a few shots so he could get the other hangar, too—the empty one. This was the sort of thing that made negotiations go smoothly.

The worked their way back quickly, though they stopped at every intersection to verify that their map was accurate. They didn’t mark walls because they didn’t want to guide competitors.

All this went very smoothly, until the reached the empty hangar.

It wasn’t empty anymore. A Megadeus rested in the gantry. As they watched, horrified, it turned its head to look at them.

*  *  *

“Another day, another insurance job,” said Roger, smiling, as Dorothy finished reading the brief. They were driving to their appointment.

Dorothy did not reply. They were going to discuss the ransoming of a jade statuette with the bereaved owner’s insurance company. This sort of work had become so routine, and had worked so smoothly, that it was becoming dull. It paid well, though.

Roger drove into the main dome and entered the parking structure next to the skyscraper housing the insurance company offices. He detested valet parking; the Griffon was not the kind of car that could be entrusted to strangers. The attendant told them to park on the fifth floor, and they wound up the ramps of the ugly concrete structure.

Roger was just about to pull into a parking space when one of the Griffon’s alarms went off. Before he could glance at the readout to see what the trouble was, Dorothy’s hand had shot out and flipped two switches. Steel shutters snapped shut over the windows. A sharp bang indicated that smoke and foil chaff had been deployed to obscure the car. Dorothy’s foot came down on Roger’s, and the car surged forward.

“Missile lock,” she explained. “At four o’clock, now.”

Roger slammed the Griffon into reverse and flipped the switch that deployed the rear machine guns. With a screech of tires, he backed through the cloud of chaff and smoke, keeping his eyes on the rear-view video screen.

There they were! Two men, one with a shoulder-launched missile, were in the middle of the lane. Roger opened fire  and they ran for it. The missile launcher clattered to the floor.

Dorothy had the microphone in her hand and was talking to the dispatcher at Military Police headquarters.

Roger shifted gears and the car leapt forward. Dorothy was replacing the microphone as Roger said, smiling. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to reschedule our meeting.”

There was a clatter as tommy-gun fire bounced off the sides of the car. Roger let go of the steering wheel and returned fire with the machine guns while Dorothy steered the car onto the exit ramp. Roger had to brake hard at the next corner. After one more ramp they were on the fourth floor of the parking structure.

And there were the crooks! They were in a van, racing down the entry ramp. Roger growled, let go of the steering wheel again, and tried to line up the machine guns before the van was obscured by the rows of parked cars. Too late.

“The guns are too close to the ground,” he said. “Maybe missiles will work better.” He flipped switches, and the missile launchers appeared on the hood. He adjusted the target lock location to where he expected the van to be when they saw it on the third floor.

“Brakes!” shouted Dorothy. Roger slammed on the brakes and looked up. They came to a stop inches in front of the far wall. Roger took the wheel again and backed up.

“You drive,” he said. That would leave him free to operate the weapons systems. In an instant, Dorothy was in the back seat. Roger slid over, and suddenly Dorothy was in the driver’s seat and the car was under way with a screech of tires.

Even so, they had lost too much time. Dorothy sped through the third-floor parking structure at heart-stopping speed, taking the corner in a four-wheel drift. The car was briefly airborne as it entered the ramp, and the suspension bottomed out painfully as they entered the second floor.

There they were! “Damn it!” swore Roger. A number of civilians were on this floor, too. Apparently a big meeting had broken up, and there were people everywhere, headed for their cars. By some miracle, the path ahead of them was clear, and Dorothy raced through the second floor.

Dorothy said, “If I can get ahead of them, I can block their exit.”

The first floor was even more crowded with civilians than the second, and Dorothy was forced to brake hard to avoid hitting a car in front of her, which was driven by an elderly man who clearly thought that two miles an hour was almost too fast for him.

Roger looked over at the entrance ramp, and was delighted to see that it was blocked by three squad cars.

Here came the van! Hurtling down the ramp, it narrowly avoided two pedestrians and slammed into the cop cars with, to Roger’s ears, a delightful medley of broken glass and tortured metal. One of the crooks was catapulted through the windshield of the van, where he slid over the top of one of the cop cars and into the street. To Roger’s amazement, the man actually leapt to his feet and tried to run, but was tackled instantly by a fat cop who was surprisingly light on his feet.

The van’s driver was slumped over the steering wheel and looked like he wasn’t going anywhere.

A policeman approached Roger’s car. Roger sighed. “Well, that was exciting, but here comes the dull part. We’ll be lucky if we get out of here in an hour.”

“We ought to be able to borrow a conference room next door,” said Dorothy. “At least that way we’ll all be comfortable.”

Roger smiled. “What did I ever do without you?”

“Nothing that belongs in your memoirs.”

*  *  *

It was late afternoon, almost quitting time. Dori, wearing her workaday blue jeans, dark yellow blouse, and deck shoes, was in her office in Hangar B, sketching out details of the core memory lab for Tony. A man she didn’t recognize in a Rapid Tool uniform walked in. He said, “I have a delivery for Dori Wayneright.”

“That was fast,” said Dori. “I only placed the order an hour ago.” To Tony, she said, “I’ll be right back.”

She walked back to the receiving bay with the delivery man. He was a young man, but something about his eyes seemed very old. She said, “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Jack Jones,” the man volunteered.

They reached the delivery truck; a small panel van with “Rapid Tool” painted on both sides and the rear. Dori saw it almost every day. Jones handed her his clipboard. As Dori looked at it, he pulled an electric cattle prod out of his pocket and jabbed it hard into her side. She slumped unconscious against the van.

Struggling to hold her upright, Jones opened the door. His assistant reached down and helped haul her in. They set her on the floor, next to the unconscious form of the real delivery man. Jones slammed the door and looked around. No one was paying any notice.

The New Dominus got into the van. His name really was Jack Jones. He started the engine and drove away.

**[To Be Continued]**


	10. Act 36: The Battle of the Wasteland

**Act 36: The Battle of the Wasteland**

Dori woke up in the back of the van. She had only been unconscious for three minutes. That was another advantage of being an android—you didn’t need to wear a watch. She looked around. Ted, the Rapid Tool delivery man, was lying next to her, unconscious. She could hear his breathing; it sounded normal. That was a relief.

Her wrists were fastened together. She glanced down and saw that they were bound with ordinary handcuffs. Good. Her kidnappers didn’t really know much about her. Her legs were free.

She had discussed this contingency at length with Beck. After all, Dorothy had been kidnapped several times. Beck disapproved of Dorothy’s behavior under such circumstances. Dorothy was disapproving and uncooperative, which meant that her kidnappers stayed on their toes and, at best, didn’t cut her any slack. At worst, Dorothy’s disdain made them want to hurt her.

Dori’s instructions were to be adorable and cooperative and non-threatening—and to make a break for it the instant she had the chance. Every second she delayed, the kidnappers were closer to their home and were more in control of events. But she worried about Ted. Leaving an unconscious Ted alone with furious kidnappers would be wrong. The Rapid Tool van was very distinctive. Surely they would switch vehicles soon. She’d have another chance after they switched.

She sat up and moved towards the front of the van. She stuck her head between the two bucket seats and said, “That wasn’t very nice.”

Both men jumped. Jones, behind the wheel, almost lost control of the van. The other man brandished the electric cattle prod at her. Dori gazed levelly at him, and after a moment he lowered it and relaxed slightly.

“It’s good to see that you are undamaged, Miss Wayneright,” said Jones.

“Mostly undamaged,” corrected Dori, who in fact had only some scorching on her skin to complain about. But it wasn’t a lie. “You _are_ going to leave Ted behind when you change vehicles, aren’t you?”

Jones sneered, “You’re supposed to say, ‘You’ll never get away with this.’”

“No,” said Dori earnestly. “I don’t say that until you tell me your nefarious plan. Ted has a wife and two kids. He’s nice.”

“He’s seen my face.”

“Lots of people at Hangar B saw your face.” Dori didn’t mention the man in the passenger seat, and neither did Jones.

“What are you offering in return?” asked Jones.

“Your humanity,” said Dori seriously.

Jones went through a brief internal struggle, some of which was visible on his face. Rage, amusement, anguish, and annoyance vied for first place. In the end, he settled for a neutral expression. After a minute or two, he pulled the van into an alley and switched off the engine.

“Time to switch vehicles,” he announced. “Throw one of those moving pads over your friend, Miss Wayneright, and come with us.”

Dori spent a moment making Ted comfortable and covered him with a quilted moving blanket used to cushion large parts. Her handcuffs were something of a nuisance. Then she obediently got out of the van—what with the short winter days, it was almost dark outside already—and into the back seat of a nondescript car that was parked further down the alley. Once again, both men sat in front.

She could burst the handcuffs and leave the car at any moment, even when it was traveling at moderate speeds. But not until she was further away from Ted.

*  *  *

Tony sought out Beck, who was in his office, pacing back and forth behind his desk, which was littered with books and papers. He looked as Tony entered. “Well?” he snapped.

“Mr. Beck, have you seen Dori?”

“No.”

“Only, she left me to take a delivery twenty minutes ago and said she’d be right back. I checked at the receiving bay, and she went out with a Rapid Tool man, but didn’t come back in. Not through that door, anyway. The delivery van is gone.”

“Was it Ted?”

“No, somebody I didn’t recognize.”

Beck sagged. His face lost all expression; for a moment he looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Then he recovered. He swelled with purpose. He picked up the phone. “Betty, tell everybody it’s quitting time. Down tools and go the hell home. Except the guys in shipping and receiving; I need to have a word with them first. And tell Security to look sharp; bad things are happening.” He slammed down the receiver.

He held still for a moment, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly, like someone nerving himself up for a painful ordeal. Beck held his watch up to his face and said, quietly, “Dorothy.”

Tony edged out of the room.

*  *  *

Dori asked, “Why have you kidnapped me?”

“We have a Megadeus who needs to be repaired,” said Jones.

Dori sighed inwardly. Back when she was human, this hadn’t happened to her. But she was an android now, and she had layers of conditioning and programming that made it almost impossible to ignore the needs of a Megadeus. She shouldn’t have asked. Now that she knew that there was a Megadeus that needed her, it was going to be hard to summon the will to escape.

Too late now. She asked, “What’s wrong with him? Or her.”

“It’s something to do with the core memory.”

“Is it broken? Missing?” asked Dori.

“It seems intact, but there is something wrong with its contents, we think. The Megadeus refuses to activate itself.”

“That’s a good sign.”

“It is?” asked Jones.

“Yes,” said Dori. The ones that refused to come to life were generally in pretty good shape; they were the ones that knew they were damaged and shouldn’t trust their own judgment. The crazy ones, the ones that went on the rampage, were more impaired than this, and no longer remembered what sanity was.

Dori thought for a while, then said, “Mr. Jones?”

“Yes?”

“You will want to let me go after I’m finished.”

“I will?”

“Yes. You’ll see. You’ll want to. Please arrange things so that you are able to.”

Jones thought about this as he drove. This girl was having an effect on his thinking. Where before he was totally focused on The Plan, now he was allowing irrelevant side issues to intrude. He was even thinking of himself as Jones instead of The New Dominus. He wasn’t even able to work up any outrage about this. Oh, well. It wouldn’t last.

He said, “I suppose I could blindfold you so you won’t know where our base is.”

“Thank you.”

*  *  *

Dorothy had been standing alone on the parapet when Beck’s call came in. She told him that she would alert Roger and Dastun right away.

“Tell Angel, too, if she’s there,” said Beck.

“Yes,” said Dorothy.

“Dori and I have talked this through. We have plans. We have tricks up our sleeves. Try not to worry,” continued Beck.

Dorothy said nothing.

After a moment, Beck added, “And, Dorothy?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

Dorothy walked back into the penthouse. It was almost dinner time, and Angel was sitting on a couch with Roger, drinking a cocktail and listening to him tell the story of the day’s events. The attack on Roger’s car in the Main Dome seemed insignificant to Dorothy now.

“Roger, Angel,” said Dorothy. “Dori has been kidnapped.”

Angel went pale.

Roger leaped to his feet, enraged. “I’ll kill Beck!” he snarled. “I knew he couldn’t be trusted with Dori!”

The color came back to Angel’s face in a rush and she jumped up and glared at Roger. “And how many times has _Dorothy_ been kidnapped, smartass? You might as well install a revolving door!”

“Damn it, Angel! I don’t have to take this from you!”

“That’s right, you don’t!” Angel stamped her foot. “I’m leaving. Beck’s going to need help.” She turned and started to stalk out of the room, then turned around again. “And don’t go rushing into danger like an idiot this time. It’s probably a trap.” Her expression softened. “Be careful, Roger, okay?”

Dorothy could see that Angel’s eyes had suddenly filled with tears, and that she wanted to throw herself into Roger’s arms, but there was a coffee table in the way. Roger hadn’t noticed, and looked like he was about to say something nasty about Beck, or possibly Angel. Dorothy interrupted, saying, “Roger, I’ll help Angel pack. You tell Norman. One of you should phone General Dastun.”

Dorothy and Angel headed for the spiral staircase. Angel said, “Dorothy, I’m worried about Roger. He’s going to do something rash, I just know it. He doesn’t believe that Beck can take care of Dori, or that Dori can take care of herself. He’s going to act like he’s her only hope. Please, Dorothy, you’ve got to hold him back, and get him to listen to Beck. I don’t want to lose Roger again.”

Angel turned to face Dorothy, then suddenly looked amazed. “You’re smiling!” she accused.

Dorothy realized that she was. “It’s just like old times, isn’t it?”

Angel hugged her, then took a step back and said, troubled, “Is it really something to smile about?”

“I wasn’t thinking about the outcome.”

“What, then?”

“The teamwork. I’d forgotten until now. For months I’ve known that it was vital to keep you here, but I couldn’t remember why.”

Angel smiled delightedly. “Come on, I need to get out of here. Help me pack and I’ll tell you what Beck and Dori have planned.”

*  *  *

As the other man drove the van away, the New Dominus removed Dori’s blindfold. They were inside a hangar containing two Megadeuses—Big Lazarus and the other one—but she didn’t see this; her eyes were closed. She was swaying slightly. In her mind, she felt like she was being torn in half.

“What’s wrong?” asked the New Dominus.

“They are ... both ... calling me,” said Dori with difficulty, in a voice with robotic overtones. “I … I … please, take me to one of them right away.”

The New Dominus was amazed. “But Big Lazarus doesn’t need your help!”

Dori said nothing. She was standing as still as a statue.

The New Dominus needed to report in. He took Dori’s hand—awkwardly, as she was still in handcuffs. The texture was different from human skin, but it was warm and, after a moment, clasped his hand trustingly. He felt a moment of disorientation, of despair, then his purpose reasserted itself. He said, “Come on,” and he led her to Big Lazarus.

They entered at the hatchway in the right foot. As soon as the hatch closed behind them, Dori regained much of her animation. “That’s better,” she said. “With two of them, I felt like I was being torn apart. I can handle one. That’s my function.” She smiled up at him.

The New Dominus dropped her hand as if it burned him. He waved her into the elevator and they rode up into the cockpit.

They stepped inside, and Dori saw the Old Dominus for the first time; the shriveled, motionless, almost mummified corpse of a young man, rudely crucified to a cross of steel I-beams welded to the back wall of the cockpit. His head sagged. His unseeing eyes stared at the floor. Eight probe cables stabbed through his shirt and into his back. Tubes carrying preservative fluid entered and exited his body at arms, neck, torso, and legs.

Dori looked at the apparition without horror, and in fact did not give it her full attention. “Poor man,” she said absently. She closed her eyes and remained silent for a long time. Then she opened them and turned to the New Dominus. She was smiling gently again. “Yes,” she said. “I can fix this Megadeus. Its personality has been isolated and no longer plays any role in operating Big Lazarus. But this is reversible. I will need to use the probe cables. Once you unplug the zombie, I can have Big Lazarus back on his feet in less than an hour.”

A voice rasped from the speakers. “Get that android out of here!” it said. “Never let her near me again. Girl, you will be punished for your insolence! And you, too, Dominus!”

The color drained from the New Dominus’ face. Taking Dori by the hand again, he pulled her hastily back into the elevator. “Sorry, Master,” he said. “I didn’t know!” The elevator door closed and they descended in silence.

When they left Big Lazarus, Dori became withdrawn again, and the New Dominus led her across the hangar floor to the other Megadeus. It looked a lot like Big O, with the massive arm pistons and forearm armor. Its color scheme was forest green with black trim.

Once again, Dori became more herself as the hatchway closed behind her. She said to the New Dominus, “This one is in worse shape. I can’t make out his name yet or anything.”

They went up the elevator to the cockpit. Dori stood inside the cockpit for several minutes, eyes closed. The cockpit was silent. No air moved. There was no rumble of machinery or hum of electronics. All the displays were dark. Dori sat down in the command seat and folded her hands in her lap. Her hairband moved, revealing a modified disk tray; the latest of Beck’s adapters. The front of the disk tray. flipped around and revealed eight gleaming round sockets. The tray withdrew back into her skull, and now the eight sockets protruded slightly.

Dori looked at the New Dominus and said, “Here goes.” From the cockpit behind her, eight probe cables rose like snakes and moved forward, plugging themselves into the sockets in her skull. Too late, the New Dominus moved forward to stop her. He was about to step onto the narrow entrance in front of the command seat when the transparent cockpit dome snapped down from the ceiling and the entrance panel slid up from the floor. Dori was sealed inside the armored, air-tight command capsule, and the New Dominus could only watch helplessly from outside. He turned at a sound behind him. The elevator door had closed.

The New Dominus raged. He pounded on the elevator button, to no avail. He paced and swore. He raged even more because he couldn’t even be sure that he had been tricked. Perhaps this was all normal operating procedure, and the android would do his bidding afterwards. So far, she had not refused a single request, nor even argued with him. She had merely made suggestions.

Yes, that was it. The android would be obedient. Of course she would. Androids had to follow orders, didn’t they? He slowly got control of his temper.

*  *  *

Dorothy walked Angel to the elevator. Angel stepped inside and set her suitcase and her satchel down. She had changed into her pink leather catsuit and long boots, and was wearing her pink wool overcoat. She turned around and smiled at Dorothy, giving her a wink just as the door closed.

Dorothy went in search of Roger. He was talking to Norman on the catwalk leading to Big O’s cockpit.

Roger smiled at her encouragingly, the way he did when he was going to suggest something he wasn’t sure she’d like.

Roger said, “I’ve been thinking about what Angel told us, and I think we’d better be clear in our own minds that this is going to be Beck’s show, not ours.” He looked at her sidelong.

Dorothy nodded. “Angel and I talked about this, too. Beck and Dori have discussed kidnap scenarios at length. They know what to expect from one another.”

“Will Beck be calling the shots, or Dori?”

“It all depends. They don’t have a plan; they have dozens of plans. They’ll switch from one to another as the situation warrants.”

Roger nodded. “So no one but Beck will be able to figure out what Dori is up to, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Not even you?”

“Not even me,” said Dorothy. “Everything depends on knowledge that Dori has and I do not.”

“That’s settled, then. This is Beck’s show, and we’re backup.” He hesitated, then said, “There’s one other thing.”

Dorothy waited silently.

“Should you go with Beck in Big B? Big O and I are used to operating without an android, but Beck doesn’t have as much experience. He always complains when Dori isn’t there with him.”

“Yes, I can do that. If it won’t bother you too much.”

“What bothers me is the idea that we might lose Dori if we don’t put our best foot forward.”

“Take Angel with you in Big O.”

“Has she left?”

“Yes. Beck needs her moral support. Right now, he would take my presence as criticism. It will be another story if I join him when we go onto action. He’d like that.”

“Should she come with me in Big O? Angel has her own Megadeus.”

“She cannot risk Big Venus,” said Dorothy.

“Isn’t it just as bad for her to risk herself?”

“Apparently not.”

*  *  *

Angel walked into the break room of Hangar B, where a police inspector in plain clothes and two uniformed officers were present, along with Tony and Beck. One officer had a notebook open and was taking shorthand notes of the interview between the inspector and Beck. The other had a sketchbook and was drawing a picture of Jones with Tony’s assistance. He had already done one of Dori. In spite of the urgency of the task, Tony’s gaze kept straying to the picture of Dori, until the police artist finally covered it with his free hand.

Angel walked straight up to Beck. They embraced. “Beck, you look terrible,” said Angel.

Beck managed a crooked smile. “You look pretty good, though,” he said. “Angel, do you know everyone here? Tony, of course. Inspector Plaice. That’s Officer Garza with the sketchbook, and Officer Hamilton with the notebook.”

  
Angel nodded at them. “Patricia Lovejoy,” she said.

She turned to Beck and raised an eyebrow. He shook his head slightly. No news.

Angel got up, went over to the coffeepot and started a fresh pot of coffee. Then she walked across to Beck’s apartment, which was built onto the side of Hangar B, and emptied the cookie jar onto a plate. She brought this back into the break room and served cookies and coffee all around.

She took a look at the sketches. Officer Garza had done a good one of Dori. A little idealized, but they he was relying on Beck and Tony, both of whom were goofy about her. You couldn’t get a really accurate description out of love-struck males. In the little description Officer Garza had put down for “Sex” “N/A (F).” Angel smiled at the “N/A”—clearly, no one had told Officer Garza that Class M androids were different.

Angel was about to point this out when the telephone rang, and she got up to answer it. It was Dastun. He and the inspector discussed ways of dealing with the kidnapping. After that, is was time for the inspector to leave, to get the sketches copied and distributed, and to brief policemen as they came on-shift.

After they left, Angel turned to Tony. “You staying?”

Tony nodded, “If Mr. Beck needs me.”

Angel turned to Beck. “What do you think?”

Beck said, “I’ve got some stuff in the lab that needs to be installed in Big B. Damn it! I should have been better prepared.”

“Lead on,” said Angel. “We’re right behind you.”

It turned out that Beck had a sophisticated tracking device built into Dori. Normally inactive, it emitted signals only when it received requests to do so. If the pings were emitted more or less randomly, it was very difficult for anyone else to detect. It worked, but Beck’s receiver was in the lab, while it needed to be in Big B, since its range was limited to five miles even under ideal conditions. By the time Dori had been missed, she had been out of range.

The equipment was relatively bulky. They loaded it onto a cart. Beck told them to take it up to the cockpit and weld the main unit to a bulkhead somewhere, then run the control wires to the command chair. He’d figure out just where to mount them later.

“I’ve got a surprise to load into the right foot,” he said mysteriously.

Angel and Tony took equipment up to the cockpit. They worked quickly, and for the most part silently. Angel would have preferred to work with Beck. They would have soothed each other with a steady stream of inconsequential talk. Tony was terribly worried about Dori, and this left him silent and preoccupied.

They finished, everything but mounting the controls. Angel saw a good place for them and decided not to wait for confirmation from Beck. She overrode Tony’s objections, told him to install them, and went to see what was keeping Beck for so long.

He was outside Big B, talking to a couple of men Angel didn’t know. All three were sitting on empty wooden crates. Beck had something in his hand. He looked up as Angel approached.

“Hey, Angel.” He handed something to Angel. It was a set of six photographs. “Take a look at these.”

The photos showed Megadeuses. The first two were of the damaged Megadeus she and Dori had found under the East Side Dome. The second one … Angel looked up in amazement. “That’s Big Duo!”

Beck nodded. “It sure looks like it. The original model, not the one that Alan Gabriel piloted.”

“I missed that part,” said Angel. “I was underground at the time. Did the new version look different?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Beck. “No question. All sorts of little differences, and one eye had this stupid star over it, like some kind of monocle for a drag queen.”

“Well,” said Angel, tapping a photo, “This is Big Duo, all right.”

“Not another unit from the same production run?”

“No,” said Angel with certainty. “Big Duo’s been customized in a lot of little ways. I’d recognize him anywhere.” She looked at the next picture. “This is in Big Ramses’ hangar?”

Beck nodded. “Sounds like it.”

“Where’s Mike?”

“Who?”

“Mike Seebach,” said Angel impatiently. “Don’t you remember?”

“No.”

“Well, you should. He’s the earnest type; you two never got along. He’s been having trouble hanging onto his sanity, these last few cycles. He goes loopy and starts talking about Truth with a capital ‘T.’”

Beck was impatient with these details. “So is he on our side or not?”

“He is until he loses his marbles; then it’s anyone’s guess. Dan or Roger can rope him in; he never trusts you or me.”

“What timeframe are we looking at? Hours? Days? Years?”

“Is Big Duo awake?”

Jerry spoke for the first time since Angel arrived. “It turned its head to watch us. My hands were shaking so hard I almost couldn’t take these pictures.”

Angel said, “Soon, then. But not soon enough to help us with Dori.”

Beck stood up. “You guys did great. Let me give you a token of my esteem.” He walked into Big B’s left foot and came back carrying a briefcase. Both of the other men were now standing. Beck handed the briefcase to Jerry.

Jerry opened it and gasped.

Beck slouched happily, with his hands in his pockets. “There’s a hundred thousand in there. Untraceable. That’s your finder’s fee and your ‘keeping your mouths shut’ fee. If we manage to get the Megadeus into service, there’ll be a lot more.” He stepped between the two men and put a hand on each man’s shoulder. “Remember who your friends are, okay, guys?” He escorted them out of the hangar.

*  *  *

Dori was no longer aware of the outside world. She was communing with Big Alpha. His mind was a mess. Long ago, he had lost his Dominus and his android, and had accepted a temporary Dominus to help him go looking for the real one. There had been a fight. It had gone badly, and to extricate themselves he had had to use the probe cables on the temporary Dominus. The personality thus absorbed into his core memory could make decisions that only a Dominus could make, for a while. It was the only way for a sane Megadeus to be fully operational without a Dominus. The effect was temporary; soon after incorporation the new personality was subject to the same inhibitions that the original one had been, unless the core memory had been crudely hacked to allow self-piloting, or if other damage broke down the barriers. But the new personality was permanent. Big Alpha had been left with a split personality, and the new one had been incompatible with the old.

Then it had happened again. And again. And again. The composite personality was crazy. It had retained just enough sanity to realize how dysfunctional it was, and shut itself down.

Crazy Megadeuses tended to settle into one of several manias. Suicidal depression sometimes resulted in spectacular acts of self-destruction, but Megadeuses were frequently prey to the same megalomania that so often struck the humans of Paradigm, especially those who wielded power, had secret knowledge, or, worst of all, had body-image problems coupled with the other two. Cyborgs could be counted upon to go insane; everybody knew that. The human personalities in androids and Megadeuses were cocooned in safeguards, but a Dominus was not. When a Megadeus absorbed the personality of its Dominus, it absorbed his instabilities at the same time.

And the zombie Dominus? Sanity in flesh-and-blood humans was largely a matter of brain chemistry and glands. What chance did a zombie have to retain even the shreds of its sanity? Over the short term, it would behave normally through sheer force of habit. But in the long term? It didn’t have a chance.

Big Alpha’s mind was still in there, still sane, exercising a minority opinion amid a Babel of other voices. Dori’s task was a matter of exorcising the ghost Dominuses; laying them to rest, poor things. In theory, she knew just what to do. It was her function.

Dorothy had failed in similar circumstances, with the Archetype and Leviathan, because she had been in a vulnerable state; still with her adolescent circuitry in her skull, unaided by the all-important attenuators that Beck had devised. And she’d had very little knowledge of her function. Wayneright had somehow managed to use her to bring up the Megadeus Dorothy 1 without teaching Dorothy much about herself. Dori, with additional training and safeguards, was in far less danger of having her personality—though with two Megadeuses screaming for her help at the same time, it had been a close thing.

Even so, she had very little power to resist. So she didn’t. Instead of resisting, she complied … cleverly. For this sort of thing, Beck had been the perfect teacher.

Dori was particularly careful to do her work in a way that continued to deny the Megadeus control over his own body. She would enable that last, when he was himself again. Also, she wanted no outward sign of progress to make its way to the zombie in the other Megadeus. For all he knew, she and Jones were just poking around and discussing what might be done.

Her eyes were open, but she did not see. Hours went by, and she didn’t notice. Nor did she notice when Jones opened the emergency access panel, cranked open the escape hatch by hand, and left.

*  *  *

Beck was back a minute later. “Well, that was interesting. How’s the wiring?”

“Tony should be about done. I picked a spot for your controls, and you’d better be happy about it.”

“Help me here for a minute, and I’ll go up and take a look.”

Beck had installed something truly bizarre. There was a vertical stack of pine coffins in the right foot of Big B. At the bottom was what looked like a torpedo tube. A hydraulic plunger seemed poised to shove coffins out of Big B’s heel.

“What the hell is that, Beck?”

“You’ll see,” he said, grinning. “It’s the latest technology.”

There were a number of wires that had to be connected to a control box in the foot. Because of the tremendous shock and vibration, Beck didn’t tolerate wires draped helter-skelter, the way he did in his lab. Everything had to be secured properly. The simple wiring job took the best part of an hour.

Beck ran some tests, then said, “That oughta do it. Let’s go up and test-fire it.”

“Tell me what it is,” said Angel, “or I’ll scratch your eyes out. The suspense is killing me.”

“Scratch away,” said Beck, smirking. “It’s a secret.”

They took the elevator to the top. Tony was asleep on his feet. Angel glanced at her watch. 11 pm. This was starting to cut into her beauty sleep.

Beck tested his coffin-launcher, which worked perfectly, shoving out one coffin after another at a leisurely pace.

Angel asked, “You don’t have zombies in there, do you?”

“No, nothing like that. Nothing dangerous at all,” said Beck, smiling his crooked smile.

Beck then tested the locator device, grudgingly approving the location Angel had chosen for the controls and Tony’s workmanship, which was flawless, as always.

“What else is on the agenda?” asked Angel.

“Well, other than reloading the coffins, we wait,” said Beck.

Angel crossed to the wall phone Beck had installed in Big B’s cockpit and called a cab for Tony, over his objections. “I’m putting Beck to bed next,” she assured him as she followed him into the elevator. “You’re not going to miss a thing. And there’s no way Beck would take you with him when it’s time to roll.”

After she saw him out, she grabbed her things and brought them back into Big B with her. She got off on the level below the cockpit, which featured Beck’s newly installed living quarters. They were cramped but serviceable, with two tiny staterooms and a microscopic kitchen. Beck was in the kitchen, cooking up a quick meal.

“Which stateroom are you in?”

“Put your stuff in Stateroom A,” said Beck.

Angel obediently stepped into Stateroom A. She almost turned around and left when she saw Beck’s horrible yellow pajamas laid out on the bed, but then she started to laugh.

“Bunk beds?” she asked.

“There really wasn’t room for anything else,” he said.

“Bunk beds?”

“Upper bunk, lower bunk; take your pick.”

“Bunk beds. My god. You sure know how to show a girl a good time, Beck.”

“Angel, stop giving me a hard time and come eat this before it gets cold. The bunk beds were Dori’s idea, anyway.” At that last line, his face fell.

“I’m sorry, Beck.” She sidled into the kitchen and put her arms around him. “We’ll get her back.”

“Yeah,” he said glumly.

“And I’m glad you have bunk beds.”

“Sure.”

“Just for tonight. I’ll seduce you after we have Dori back safe and sound.”

“Eat your dinner.”

Angel kissed him briefly and sat at the tiny table. Beck sat down, too. Angel ate her meal and Beck pretended to eat his.

“Is there a phone in there?” she asked as she finished.

“Yeah.”

“Can you reach it from either bunk?”

“Just the lower one.”

“I’ll take the upper bunk.”

*  *  *

Beck tossed and turned while Angel slept in the upper bunk. Good old Angel. It was almost impossible to put her off her feed or keep her from sleeping. Beck, on the other hand, suffered from an artistic temperament, and often couldn’t eat or sleep because of all the plans, ideas, and worries boiling in his brain. Angel’s presence, the sound of her breathing, helped a lot.

The phone rang at 3 am exactly. Beck snatched the receiver off the hook before the ring was half-completed. “Beck.”

“Hello, Beck,” said Dorothy’s calm voice. “I have Emily on the line.” Emily was their other android friend, who was somewhere outside the city with her human boyfriend Will.

“Hi,” said Emily.

“Emily, Dori’s been kidnapped,” said Beck. “It happened this afternoon, just before quitting time. She’s out of range of my tracking devices.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Emily. “Do you have any idea who, or why?”

“They hijacked the Rapid Tool delivery truck, but they abandoned it early on. Nobody saw her removed from the premises. They may have knocked her out with an electric cattle prod. That’s how I would have done it. We have a sketch of the one guy who came inside. White, short brown hair, twenties. Other than that, nothing. But I think she’s outside the city, or I’d be able to pick something up.”

“What would you like us to do?” asked Emily.

“Keep your eyes peeled. There was also an attempt on Dorothy, and an attempt on some equipment that’s supposed to be Wayneright’s. I think someone’s after a Class M android and isn’t particular how they get it. So you might be in danger, too.”

“I’ll be careful,” said Emily, “So you think they have a Megadeus that needs a helping hand from a friendly android?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll move to a more central location. There’s a hill that overlooks the whole area where we think the Megadeus with the reality cannon might be. That’s the scariest scenario; that’s what we’ll concentrate on.”

“Good,” said Beck.

“We have the transceiver, so we can contact you if we have to.”

Dorothy said, “Don’t break radio silence if you don’t have to.”

“I won’t,” said Emily. “Beck, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Angel’s holding my hand,” said Beck.

“Good for her,” said Emily. “No doubt we’ll see you soon. Good hunting.”

*  *  *

The Old Dominus was in a fury. His rage was palpable.

“If the android gets the Megadeus operational, she’ll call down Big O and Big B on our heads!”

“Let’s destroy the Megadeus,” said the New Dominus. “Either the core memory or the cockpit. We can still salvage the rest.”

“She fooled you! She worked her wiles on you! How could you fall for such an obvious trick?”

The New Dominus said nothing. The Old Dominus was right, of course. He had been far too trusting. And yet, even now he wasn’t sure he’d been wrong to do so. He could still be in the other cockpit with Dori, and not here with the Old Dominus. He pushed the thought away. No point thinking about it. He had passed the point of no return a long time ago.

The Old Dominus rasped, “No, we will use her for bait. We’re ready to spring the trap. Take me to Hangar 2.”

*  *  *

Emily held her binoculars with one hand and spoke into the microphone with the other. It was a bright night; there must be a full moon above all those clouds. She was wearing headphones. “Norman, we’ve got a sighting. A Megadeus at map reference 72. It emerged from a building at map reference 73 and walked into another one about a mile away. I tried Beck’s detector; no dice. But the Megadeus would probably block the signal at this range. The Megadeus seems complete. It’s one of the rounded-looking ones like Big B. Yeah, but fully armored. No real color scheme; it’s mostly just bare, pitted metal. Matches the description you gave of Big Lazarus. It looks fully operational. No, I’m too far away to sense anything; this is just a visual sighting.”

*  *  *

Beck heard Dori’s voice calling to him. “Time to wake up.”

His heart leaped. His eyes flew open.

Dorothy was standing next to his bunk, looking down at him gravely.

“Emily has sighted Big Lazarus,” she said. “She hasn’t detected Dori, but we should follow up.”

“Give me a minute.” He felt disoriented and desolate.

Dorothy stepped onto the edge of the bed and said, “Time to wake up, Angel.”

“Dori!” said Angel from the upper bunk. “Oh. Sorry, Dorothy.”

“It’s all right. There’s coffee brewing.”

They met in the tiny kitchen, Beck had somehow managed to get dressed and to look perfectly fresh and fit in the space of a minute or two. Angel was still in her pajamas, still sleepy. “What time is it?” she said.

“Almost seven,” said Dorothy.

*  *  *

It was 8 am. Dori was finished; Big Alpha was himself again. His control panels and screens lit up. There was a throb of distant machinery and a hum of nearby electronics. The air conditioning started. There was a sense of attentiveness and of barely contained aggression.

Dori felt a rush of exhilaration. The probe cables put her into intimate contact with the mind of this Megadeus. Big Alpha was very masculine. He took an elemental joy in destroying enemies with his hands, as Big O did, and also had the tender protectiveness she associated with Big B. There was a love of danger for its own sake that was new to her, and a wry sense of humor. Like Megadeus, like Dominus—Big Alpha’s android had been a very lucky girl. She smiled at Big Alpha. She could feel him smiling back.

Dori crossed her forearms as the central screen displayed the message:

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY.

The hand controls appeared and slid down their grooves to where Dori could grasp them. She reached for them, bursting the chain of her handcuffs without noticing.

“Big Alpha! Action!”

Dori looked carefully at the gantry and the hangar floor. There was no one near. Big Alpha braced his feet and heaved with back, shoulders, and arms. The gantry he was attached to twisted, buckled, and with a horrendous scream of tortured metal, fell. Big Alpha was free.

Dori looked around and asked, “Where is Big Lazarus?”

The other Megadeus was no longer in the hangar.

“This isn’t good,” said Dori. “That zombie was crazy. They might be waiting to ambush us.”

Big Alpha agreed.

“Not that I could use them, much, but don’t you have any weapons at all?”

Just arm pistons and hip chains, reported Big Alpha. Everything else had been cannibalized, like the eye lasers, or had broken, like the chromebuster. Big Alpha was undismayed. He far preferred using his hands.

*  *  *

Big B broke through a sand dune and emerged into the Wasteland.

The hand controls slid down their slots and the central screen lit up:

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY.

Beck called, “Big B! Action!”

Big B strode forward a few paces to get clear of the hole. Beck looked around carefully. Nothing in sight. The screens showed nothing of interest. Well, they were three miles from their target, which was obscured by hills. He turned around to Dorothy. “Everything okay back there?”

“Yes.”

Beck waited, but Dorothy said nothing more.

*  *  *

Big O burst through the sand and emerged in the Wasteland. Big B was a couple of hundred yards ahead of him.

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY.

“Big O! Action!”

Big O strode out of the hole in the sand.

Angel’s voice behind him said, “Don’t you ever get tired of saying that?”

“No.”

“Me neither.” Angel was wearing her pink catsuit and was  strapped into one of the jump seats. She was craning her neck to keep an eye on the displays.

*  *  *

The New Dominus flipped a few more switches on the bulky electronic equipment that had been hastily installed in the immense command deck, both different from and similar to that of Big Lazarus. This should do it. He set the timer for five minutes, armed the radio-controlled self-destruct charge, and hurried for the elevator.

Five minutes later, the Leviathan’s central screen lit up to the message:

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY.

The hand controls slid down the slots flanking the empty control seat, nearly snagging on one of the innumerable jury-rigged control cables. A relay clicked. A recorded voice cried, somewhat tinnily, “Leviathan 14! Action!”

*  *  *

“Let’s see if we can raise Big B,” said Dori. “Channel 63, Encryption J-37.” She didn’t have to say these things out loud; Big Alpha could here her thoughts through the probe cables. But she was sitting in the command seat and felt it was expected of her.

The screen lit up. There was Beck! “Jason!” Dori blurted. “Are you all right?”

Beck looked startled, “That’s what I was going to ask you!”

“I’m fine. I’ve made a new friend.”

Beck grinned. “That’s nice.”

“But Big Lazarus is in that big building at map reference 72. He has a fusion beam and a reality cannon and a chromebuster. I don’t think he likes me.”

Beck said, “He must have really lousy taste.”

“There’s a zombie in charge, instead of the real Megadeus personality. The man who kidnapped me is the Dominus. The zombie is crazy, and I don’t think Mr. Jones is all he should be, either.”

“We’ll put them out of their misery,” snarled Beck. “Nobody lays a hand on my Dori!”

“Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“Big Lazarus would be okay if we got rid of the zombie. The personality is still there. And he’s sane.”

“I don’t think we’ll have the chance, honey. He’s got a reality cannon. We’re gonna have to kill him fast, to keep him from using it.”

There was a pause, then Dori said, “I know.”

“Can you get away without having Big Lazarus take any potshots at you?”

“I think so. Is Big O with you?”

“Yeah, he’s right here.”

“Say hi to Roger and Dorothy for me. I’ll be on my way in about ten seconds.”

“I’m here with Beck,” said Dorothy.

Dori smiled. “Oh, good. Big B’s a real sweetie, isn’t he?”

“He’s fine,” said Dorothy neutrally.

“See you soon.” Dori cut the connection, then said to Big Alpha, “Let’s make a back door.” She urged the Megadeus through the rear wall of the hangar, out of Big Lazarus’ line of sight. She had been afraid that the building might sway alarmingly or even collapse, alerting Big Lazarus to her departure, but it barely shivered.

“Now let’s go find our friends.”

*  *  *

The New Dominus monitored the progress of Leviathan 14. So far, so good. But it would be spotted soon if they didn’t provide a diversion. He crossed his forearms.

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY.

“Big Lazarus! Action!”

*  *  *

Emily realized they had been focusing on Big Lazarus’ presumed location to the exclusion of all else. It was easy to do. Big B and Big O had already passed their hilltop location, so all the action promised to be ahead of them. She told Will, “Keep an eye on that hangar. I’ll take a scan around.” She shaded her eyes and looked around without the binoculars first, planning to use them again in a moment.

What was that? A sort of shimmering at ground level, tracing out a path that was headed straight for Big O.

Will was already talking into the microphone. “Big Lazarus has left the hangar.”

Emily snatched the mike away from Will and shouted, “Roger! Behind you! It’s a Leviathan!”

*  *  *

Beck swore. “Damn it to hell! Dorothy! Arm and fire coffin number 1!”

“Coffin number 1 armed,” said Dorothy coolly. “Coffin number 1 firing.”

Big B’s foot was in the air when the coffin emerged, and it broke open when it crashed to the ground. The figure inside pushed the lid away and got to its feet. It looked like an animated department store dummy. It was dressed like Dori and wore a blonde wig. It walked somewhat jerkily.

“Chromebuster on Big Lazarus!” Beck called. Big Lazarus was still almost a mile away; long range. Big B took up a firing stance. After charging for a couple of seconds, the powerful beam fired from Big B’s head. Beck switched the beam off after five seconds and pressed Big B into furious motion to get out of the way of any return fire, but there was none.

“Damage to target, nominal,” reported Dorothy. “Leviathan has changed course and is heading for us. Leviathan is no longer traveling underground.”

Beck glanced at the screen. Sure enough, the long, segmented, insectile Megadeus had burst through the ground and was traveling on the surface.

*  *  *

Sounds of incoherent rage, interspersed with random computer sounds, pounded out of Big Lazarus’ speakers. Finally, the Old Dominus found his voice. “Why has the Leviathan changed course? Are you betraying me, Dominus?”

“I don’t know why!” protested the New Dominus frantically, as he operated Leviathan’s remote control. “I’m telling it to turn around, but it’s not paying any attention to me!”

*  *  *

“Arm and fire coffin 2,” ordered Beck. “Lock missiles on the Leviathan.”

“Arming coffin 2. Firing coffin 2,” said Dorothy. Big B’s torso shutters snapped open, revealing racks of missiles. “Missiles locked.”

“Even-numbered missiles, fire!” ordered Beck. Twelve missiles raced towards Leviathan, which bobbed and weaved. Eight missiles struck home.

Dorothy gasped. “Those coffins have Class M androids inside!”

“They’re just decoys,” said Beck. “Nothing distracts a damaged Megadeus like an android.”

“Damage to Leviathan: minimal,” reported Dorothy.

Big B was brushed by fire from Big Lazarus’ chromebuster.

“Damn it!” swore Beck. “What the hell is keeping Big O?”

*  *  *

The Leviathan was close enough for Emily to hear. She said to Will, “The Leviathan is being controlled. And not very well. He can overcome the compulsion if he thinks he can get an android out of the deal.” She turned to Will and grinned. “I’ll take the Leviathan. You catch up with Dori.” Dori’s Megadeus was only a quarter of a mile away.

He grinned back, then picked up the field radio and started running downhill, talking into the microphone as he did so.

Emily reached up to her forehead and removed the hairband that Beck had provided—the one that concealed her from Megadeuses. She put it into her purse. “Come to mama!” she said. She also began to run downhill.

*  *  *

“Emily!” shouted Roger. “Get out of my way!” He had the Big O Thunder all ready to go, and could destroy the Leviathan in a moment if Emily would just back off.

“She can’t hear you,” pointed out Angel. “I hope she’s coordinated the _coupe de grace_ with Beck, because we’re not going to be any use here.” She glanced up at the screen. Big Lazarus was concealed from them by a low hill. “Here comes Dori.”

Dori’s Megadeus hove into view, then stopped suddenly. Roger and Angel couldn’t see why, because a grove of trees blocked their view of ground level.

Then Dori’s Megadeus got underway again, passing the Leviathan closely, ignoring it, apparently unconcerned. Both Roger and Angel swore with considerable inventiveness.

*  *  *

The elevator took Emily up to the cockpit. “Ye gods,” she said, when she saw the control system. “I’ve never seen anything so primitive in my life.” Then a sudden babble of sounds came out of her mouth, followed by a prolonged high-pitched scream. Indicator lights changed all over the control room as the Leviathan came unchained. “Pleased to meet you,” said Emily happily. “That’ll do for now. We’ll do the rest later. Let’s get this vampire box off you first.” There was no obvious on/off switch, so she started pulling cables at random. “Just hang on, sugar,” she said to the Leviathan. “We’ll have you free in no time.”

One cable was part of the self-destruct circuit. When she pulled it, a tiny charge went off in the center of the control box, destroying it and flinging her against the far wall. She smashed into one of the video monitors and got a jolt of high-voltage electricity. She fell unconscious to the floor.

*  *  *

“Will!” said Dori delightedly as she hugged him. Then she jumped out of his way to give him the command seat.

Will was grinning, transported with happiness. Dori could see this, but for a moment she didn’t know why. Will crossed his arms.

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY.

“Big Alpha!” shouted Will joyously. “Action!”

Dori was amazed. “You’re the Dominus of Big Alpha!”

Will grinned. “We knew he must be around here somewhere. Let’s go help Emily.”

*  *  *

Beck asked, “What’s the range of that reality cannon?”

“Against ordinary objects, about two miles,” replied Dorothy. “Megadeuses are resistant, and are not affected until the range closes to half a mile. Big Lazarus is three-quarters of a mile away.”

“What’s the range of the fusion beam?”

“It goes on for miles, but is only useful against a stationary target, since aiming is impossible once it’s turned on. Against Megadeuses, it is normally fired at no more than two hundred yards.”

Beck said, “But he has a damned chromebuster, so we don’t outrange him.”

“That’s right.”

“Arm charge number 7.”

“Charge number 7 armed,” reported Dorothy. She looked quizzically at Beck.

“Chromebuster!” he warned.

Big B took up a firing stance and fired again at Big Lazarus. “Fire charge number 7!”

There was a spectacular explosion in Big B’s head. Beck turned off the chromebuster. “Okay Big B, do your stuff!” To Dorothy he said, “Arm and fire coffins number three and four.”

Big B staggered backwards drunkenly, then reeled behind a small hill and out of Big Lazarus’ sight.

Two decoy androids were left in his wake.

*  *  *

The New Dominus reported, “I’ve lost contact with Leviathan.” Leviathan, Big O, and Big Alpha were out of sight, so anything could have happened.

“Imbecile!”

The Old Dominus’ rant was interrupted by chromebuster fire from Big B. This in turn was interrupted by an explosion in Big B’s head. Big B staggered back.

“Now! Now!” shouted the Old Dominus. “Close! We can finish him!”

Big Lazarus strode forward.

“They outnumber us three to one,” pointed out the New Dominus.

“If they aren’t too far apart, we can get them all in a single shot. Charge the reality cannon.”

*  *  *

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY.

Angel gasped, then swore. “Damn, damn, damn!”

She was in the control room of Big Venus.

She turned around. At least Big Venus wasn’t trying to compel her this time. The probe cables were not hovering around, either.

She looked at the readouts. Big Lazarus was charging the reality cannon. If he fired it indiscriminately—say, for an hour—the reality field would weaken so much that the world would end. If he fired it even half a dozen times on full power, reality in Paradigm would be noticeably less real than it was already. Damn!

It wasn’t time yet. She really didn’t want to ring down the curtain on the new cycle. Not so soon. Not when things were so promising. They’d been lucky last time.

Angel desperately wanted a cigarette, but she’d need to keep both hands free. Things might fall to pieces at any moment. She tried to fix in her mind what she’d want to have happen if she had to start a new transition right now; how she wanted things to change.

And that was the trouble. She didn’t want them to change at all. “Damn you, Big Lazarus!”

Big Venus would try to bully her into doing something more usual, with lots of memory loss and the sorting of people into winners and losers. Angel had been down that road too many times before. She hated it. It was the road to madness. Big Venus had been slow to arrive at the same conclusion; she didn’t spend any time out in the world. She still believed what Gordon Rosewater had told them long, long ago.

“I need backup,” she said to herself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Longing welled up in her. “Roger … no, damn it! Dori!”

“Angel?” Dori sounded frightened.

“Close your eyes and reach out for my hand.”

Angel, her eyes still closed, reached out with her own hand. It closed on Dori’s. She pulled gently.

Angel opened her eyes. Dori was standing in front of her, still holding her hand, wide-eyed, bewildered.

“Dori, we’re in the control room of Big Venus. Big Lazarus is charging up his reality cannon. If he uses it more than a few times, I’m going to have to trigger a transition just to get rid of him. Big Venus and I don’t agree on what the outcome of the transition should be. You need to use the probe cables and back me up.”

Dori looked around the control room. “Hello,” she said hesitantly. “I’m R. Dorothy Wayneright.”

*  *  *

Emily awoke. What was she doing lying on the grass? Where was the Leviathan? Where was Will?

She looked around. There were Big O and Big B and the other Megadeus, all standing close together. “Spread out, you idiots!” shouted Emily, though no one could hear her. “Big Lazarus has a reality cannon!”

As if on cue, they began to separate. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!” she shouted. She started running towards Dori’s Megadeus.

The Leviathan must have ejected her. Why? Where had it gone?

*  *  *

“We’re within extreme range,” noted the New Dominus.”

“Fire at full power,” rasped the Old Dominus.

“It won’t work.”

“Fire! Fire! Do I have to do everything myself?” raged the Old Dominus.

The New Dominus stopped Big Lazarus and took careful aim. As he did so, Big O fired at him with the Big O Thunder, and Big B fired his chromebuster.

“Fire!’ repeated the Old Dominus.

Big Lazarus fired the reality cannon on full power. Writhing, squiggly, snake-like patches of light and dark squirmed over the surface of Big Lazarus. These grew brighter and brighter—both the light patches and the dark ones—until they became impossible to look at. Then, in an instant, they vanished, and a fan-shaped piece of land, two mile long and a quarter-mile wide at its far edge, was suddenly transformed from sandy pine barrens into a level, boulder-strewn plain, with only occasional tufts of grass. Heat shimmered off the landscape. Lizards basked on the rocks.

Though they were caught by the beam, the three Megadeuses were still there, unchanged. Megadeuses were resistant.

“Closer! Take us closer!” called the Old Dominus, ignoring the damage caused by the Big O Thunder and the chromebuster. “Fire the chromebuster to interfere with their aim!”

The New Dominus urged Big Lazarus forward and started to charge the chromebuster. A moment later he fired it at Big O, who was forced to hastily withdraw the Big O Thunder and protect himself with his forearm shields.

*  *  *

“Whew! That was close!” said Emily as she reached the cockpit. The landscape had changed just seconds after she had clambered inside Big Alpha. She took her place behind Will, and the eight probe cables flew into her forehead. She grinned. “I love you too, Big Alpha. I mean it! What’s the game plan, Will?”

“We don’t have any long-range weapons, so we’re gonna work our way around to the side and then charge,” said Will. “We’re the weakest threat, so they shouldn’t waste any firepower on us, right until we tear them apart.”

Big Alpha ran off to the flank at top speed.

“Where’s Dori?” asked Emily.

“She was right here a minute ago,” said Will, looking around. “She must be around someplace.”

*  *  *

Big Venus condescended to let Dori use her probe cables. Dori was glad she had taken the precaution of setting her probe-cable adapter to maximum attenuation, because Big Venus had a powerful mind and very definite ideas. Dori liked her immediately.

“You all right, Dori?” asked Angel.

“Fine,” said Dori.

“We’d better get up to ground level. Big Venus! It’s showtime!”

The elevator started taking Big Venus up the long shaft to the surface.

*  *  *

The decoys hadn’t worked against Big Lazarus at all. He had walked right past the two imitation androids.

“This is bad,” said Beck. “He’s going to come into view with a fully charged reality cannon, and our only chance is to destroy him before he pulls the trigger. We don’t have the firepower.”

Dorothy said, “Will is working around to the right. Roger is working around to the left. We will draw his fire.”

“I’m sorry, Dorothy.”

“It’s all right.”

“Big B, let’s skedaddle. We can keep Big Lazarus busy for longer if he chases us. Not too fast, though. We don’t want him to turn on our pals.”

Big B started retreating. Big Lazarus would be within sight in less than a minute.

Beck glanced at the screen and swore. “Damn it, Roger! _I’m_ the hero of this piece!”

Roger had stopped working his way to the flank and was racing directly towards Big Lazarus, who now stopped and turned to face him.

Beck turned Big B around. Even as he urged Big B into motion, he had to admire the speed and fluidity with which Big O moved. What a team Big O and Roger made!

Big O zigzagged, taking full advantage of every little hill. The reality cannon worked on wide stretches of surface, but didn’t penetrate very deeply into the earth, so hills acted as shielding.

Will was also racing towards Big Lazarus.

This was going to be close. Beck pressed a button, too agitated to call out directions to Dorothy, and Big B’s back armor opened. He pressed another, and Big B’s rocket-propelled net whirled out of the opening and flew toward Big Lazarus. “It ought to distract him, anyway.”

The incoming net must have unnerved Big Lazarus or his Dominus, for he stopped and fired the reality cannon prematurely, not waiting for an accurate aim or full power, missing Big O entirely. A stretch of landscape was suddenly filled with adobe houses, with clotheslines criss-crossed over narrow streets. Throngs of people stopped and gaped at their new surroundings.

Beck tried to pilot the net right into Big Lazarus, but Big Lazarus dodged just enough that Beck missed, and then the net’s rocket motors gave out before he could bring it back for a second pass. The net smacked into the ground a quarter of a mile beyond Big Lazarus.

Big O was in the final stretch. He was still a long way away from Big Lazarus, and there was nothing for him to hide behind. Big Lazarus couldn’t miss.

Beck wanted to close his eyes, but that would be cowardly. “Chromebuster!” he called, though he knew that he would not be able to fire before Big Lazarus.

Just then, the Leviathan erupted from the sand directly in front of Big Lazarus. His two front claws were glowing brightly. A single touch from either of them would turn Big Lazarus into sand and dust.

Big Lazarus lurched backwards. The Leviathan surged forward. Big Lazarus grabbed the Leviathan’s claw arms by the wrists, one in each hand. They struggled backward and forward. Beck withheld the chromebuster, figuring that the Leviathan was the better bet.

Big O got closer and closer. At this rate, he’d be able to finish off Big Lazarus with his Big O Thunder at close range.

Big Lazarus heaved the Leviathan over on its back and then staggered backwards. He took the firing stance for his reality cannon. Once again, writhing snakes of light and darkness played over his body, with both the light and the darkness becoming brighter and brighter.

The Leviathan rolled over and reached out with a claw. It touched Big Lazarus just as the reality cannon fired. There was a blinding flash.

*  *  *

Beck and Dorothy screamed. After a moment, when they could see again, they looked around for Big O. For Big Lazarus. For the Leviathan. Where were they?

Nothing showed up on sensors.

“What happened?” asked Beck. “If Big Lazarus got them, there’d be a big swath of somewhere else where they used to be. If the Leviathan got them, there’d be a big pile of metal sand. If Roger got them, there’d be burning wreckage.” Instead, there was nothing. The earth was gouged where the fight had took place; it hadn’t been replaced. There was no suspicious pile of sand. No wreckage. No survivors.

“Ro-ger,” said Dorothy in a robotic monotone.

Beck stared alternately at his screens and at the site of the combat. He was in shock. What was he going to do now?

*  *  *

Angel screamed. Dori gasped. Both called out, “What happened?”

Angel’s eyes raced over the monitors. “The reality cannon is gone. There was a blip just before it vanished … No, that can’t be right, can it?” She stared at the readout. “The baseline reality amplitude just rose a fraction.”

“Can that happen?”

“It never has before,” said Angel.

They hadn’t quite reached the surface. “Reverse the elevator, Big Venus,” commanded Angel. “We don’t want to blow our cover just yet.”

“Dori, call Roger and find out what happened.”

After a moment, Dori reported, “He doesn’t answer.”

“Get Beck, then.”

Beck’s face appeared on the screen. He looked haggard. Dori said, “Jason, what’s wrong?”

“We’ve lost Roger.”

Dori gasped, “He’s dead?”

“He’s lost,” said Beck. “One moment he was there, then he was gone. But the ground around him didn’t change. Big O, the Leviathan, and Big Lazarus all vanished in a flash of light.”

Angel cut the connection. With shaking hands, she took out a cigarette. After trying to light it five times, Dori came forward and did it for her.

*  *  *

Roger screamed, then didn’t know why. He looked around. Where were Big Lazarus and the Leviathan? If the Leviathan had won, there should be a pile of sand where Big Lazarus had been. If Big Lazarus had won, there should be a large swath of countryside that didn’t belong. But the area around them looked normal.

“Do we have any enemies left, Big O?”

Big O couldn’t see any.

“Call Beck in Big B.”

Beck’s face appeared on the screen, looking exhausted and troubled. Then suddenly he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “Roger! Where the hell have you been hiding?”

“What? I’ve been right here.”

“We’ve been looking for you for hours!”

Roger almost made a sharp retort, then shook his head as if to clear it. “What happened between Big Lazarus and the Leviathan?”

“Damned if I know. The Leviathan whacked Big Lazarus with its claw just as Big Lazarus was about to fire the reality cannon, and there was an enormous flash. Then all three of you were gone. Vanished.”

“How long has it been?”

“Three hours.”

“I called you less than a minute after the flash, from my point of view,” said Roger. “Is Dorothy okay?”

“I am now,” said Dorothy, her voice almost normal, almost convincing.

“Any more premature mourners?” asked Roger.

“I’ve just notified Dori and Emily,” said Dorothy. “To paraphrase them, they send their love. Angel says … never mind. Angel is also pleased.”

Roger grinned.

Beck asked, “Are the other two going to pop up here, too?”

“I guess we’d better assume that they will,” said Roger.

They stayed in the area for two days, until they were too exhausted to continue. The Military Police took over, setting out a small guard to radio if anything happened, but this was withdrawn after ten days with nothing to report. Big O had been some distance from the main event. Being blown into the future was no doubt a fringe effect. The other two were probably gone for good.

*  *  *

A week after the fight, Dori was visiting Angel at Smith Manor. “I brought the things you left behind in Big B,” said Dori.

“Thanks.”

“Why did you sleep in stateroom A? Stateroom B has a queen-sized bed.”

Angel began to laugh. ‘B’ for Beck. Of course stateroom A wasn’t the master bedroom! She’d wondered at the time why the door to stateroom B was locked.

Dori watched her quizzically. Angel stopped laughing and told her, “It was the bunk beds. They were just what we needed at the time.”

“I would have thought…” Dori began.

“Ask me again some other time,” said Angel, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. “Bunk beds. My god.”

“All right.” After a pause, Dori said, “I don’t want to be Big Venus’ android, Angel,” said Dori.

Angel smiled. “You’re not telling me that Beck was right about androids and Dominuses, are you?”

Dori rolled her eyes. “You’re not my type. Now, Will, on the other hand—am I too old to have a girlish crush on Will?”

Angel’s eyes danced. “No one’s ever _that_ old.”

“Good. I shall worship him from afar.”

Angel asked, “So what’s wrong with Big Venus?”

“She’s even better at bullying me than at bullying you.”

_“Somebody_ needs to help me keep her in line,” said Angel.

“You need Dorothy. She’s better than me because she lacks social skills.”

“What?” asked Angel, laughing.

“It’s true. Dorothy was raised by our reclusive father. So was I, when I was human, but he raised her as an android, too. She has firm views about how people should behave. She’s totally uncooperative and inflexible when people cross the line.”

“And you’ve been raised by Beck,” said Angel, smiling, “and he’s always over the line, one way or another, but we love him anyway.”

“I have learned tolerance and patience,” said Dori. “Big Venus doesn’t need these. She needs to be hit with a brick just to get her attention.” After a moment she added, “A big brick.”

“Don’t you like Big Venus?”

“I love her! She’s wonderful. But I’d be the junior partner.”

“Okay, Dori, I’ll talk to Dorothy. How’s Beck doing on his android research?”

“Progress is slow. He’s spending more time thinking about reality technology.”

Angel glared. “I told him to knock that off!”

“If you didn’t want him to work on it, you shouldn’t have told him that the ambient reality level went up when Leviathan and Big Lazarus disappeared. Jason thinks this may be the key to everything.”

“Just _thinking_ about reality technology drives people crazy! I don’t want to lose Beck, too!” wailed Angel. “I’ve lost so many of the others.”

“Maybe it’s his duty.”

They sat for a while in silence, then Dori said, “Dorothy’s out on the parapet.”

Angel walked out onto the roof. Dorothy was standing on the parapet, gazing out at the city. Odd, Angel though, how the two sisters differed. Dorothy was very fond of this activity, while Dori had never taken to it. Dori also rarely played the piano, though she was quite proficient in a mechanical sort of way. The human Dorothy had enjoyed the piano but had never progressed from technical proficiency to real mastery. Dorothy was doing so now; Dori had other interests. But as soon as you convinced yourself that they were totally different, something happened that reminded you that, in many ways, they were the same.

“Hello, Dorothy,” said Angel.

Dorothy did not reply. Angel hadn’t really expected her to. Angel leaned against the parapet and gazed out at the city.

Finally, Angel said, “Dori has resigned her post as Big Venus’ android.”

“I know.”

“She thinks you might like the job.”

Dorothy still did not turn around. There was a long pause. Then she said, “I am Roger’s lover; I am his android. I belong with him.”

“But,” Angel began.

“When he vanished, I knew I had made a terrible mistake.” After a while, Dorothy added, “I survived Roger’s death once before, forty years ago. It was …” There was another long pause, then, “I belong with him.”

Dorothy turned around and hopped down from the parapet. She looked up at Angel. “I can be with you in Big Venus if Roger is there, too.”

Angel nodded. From her point of view, this was ideal. “And Big O?”

“He understands,” said Dorothy.

“It probably won’t happen. Now that the reality cannon is gone, we ought to have decades before the next transition. I’ll have my own android long before then.”

*  *  *

The Leviathan reappeared two weeks later. No one noticed. He was drawn to one of the decoy androids that Beck had left behind. He knew it was a fake, but he found it comforting. He put it—her—in  his command deck and pretended she was real.

*  *  *

The New Dominus looked around. Where had the Leviathan gone? Where was Big O? He scanned the screens. No sign of anyone. He looked at his watch. It was still before noon, but it looked as though evening were setting in.

The Old Dominus spoke. “Move us quickly to Hangar 3. I need repairs. I need answers.”

Hangar 3 was safe; it had not been discovered. After making a few cautious phone calls, the New Dominus suddenly realized that more than a month had gone by in an instant.

He reported this to the Old Dominus, who replied, “That is fate at work. We have been saved to fight another day. How long before we are ready to try again?”

“A few weeks—a month at most.”

“See if you can speed things along. And, Dominus…”

“Yes?”

“No more androids.”

**[To Be Continued]**


	11. Act 37: Pajama Party Pandemonium

**Act 37: Pajama Party Pandemonium**

Dorothy handed the telephone receiver to Dori. Emily was making one of her late-night check-in calls.

“Hi, Emily,” said Dori.

“Hi, Dori,” said Emily. “Tell me, do you and Dorothy ever switch places?”

“She won’t do it,” said Dori. “Not even for an instant.”

“Too bad,” said Emily. “The comic potential is limitless. What’s up?”

Dori replied, “I’m having a pajama party at Casa del Beck on Thursday. You’re invited. Angel and Dorothy will be here, too.”

“I’d better buy some pajamas, then. Where will the boys be?”

Dori smiled inwardly. To Emily, the plural of “man” was generally “boys,” especially if they were men she knew.

“They’ll be having a stag party at Roger’s place. Roger, Norman, Dan, Jason, and Will, if he wants to attend.”

“How are you going to keep Angel with you if all the boys are at Roger’s?”

“I had to bully her,” admitted Dori. “And I had to tell her that it’s not all fun and games, but there will be business, too.”

“Oh?” asked Emily, interested. “What kind of business?”

“We will determine the fate of the world,” said Dori.

*  *  *

Leviathan 14 pondered his next move. Ordinarily, a Megadeus was somnolent unless he was being piloted, was helping with repairs, or was defending himself. Sometimes, too, a Megadeus would go looking for his Dominus, but usually only after being awakened by a need to defend himself. Finally, a Megadeus could operate with the assistance of his android, and do anything he liked but take the offensive. By sleeping through the dull times, a Megadeus saw life as one action-packed adventure after another.

Leviathan 14 had been rescued by R. Emily from remote piloting, a painful, traumatic form of electromechanical mind control. Leviathan 14 had fallen in love with Emily at first sight. Later, he had come across one of Beck’s decoy androids, which gave out radio signals identifying her as a friendly android. The decoy had no intelligence whatever, but her transmissions were comforting. Leviathan 14 took her on board, and by pretending she was real, he could act independently, almost as if she were a real android.

He had helped fight Big Lazarus, who was clearly crazy; an enemy for sure. On the other side had been Big Alpha, Big O, and Big B, all of whom were friends. He should find them and report for duty. They might take his decoy away, but they might have a real android for him, and a Dominus, too. He longed for completeness. Where were they? He didn’t know where he was. He was far from Paradigm; far enough that its lights did not illuminate the nighttime sky. Since the battle had taken place near Big Lazarus’ hangar, he was presumably in enemy territory and needed to be careful. Time to move on, but which way?

As it turned out, he guessed wrong.

*  *  *

Emily rang the doorbell at Casa del Beck. Dori opened it immediately. “Hi, Emily. You’re the last to arrive.”

“Sorry I’m late,” said Emily, not sounding the least bit sorry. She had a suitcase in one hand and a department store shopping bag in the other. “We had some car trouble.” She set her burdens down as Dori closed the door and moved in for a hug.

Dori was wearing a red chemise. Emily approved. It set Dori off nicely. Emily suspected, correctly, that Dori might wear blanket sleepers one night and a transparent negligee the next. Beck was goofy about Dori and thought that everything she did was wonderful, so he would be useless at curbing such excesses. An opaque chemise that came down to mid-thigh was just the thing for a pajama party.

The only surprising thing was that it wasn’t in yellow, or at least an earth tone. Emily had difficulty choosing outfits that didn’t pay at least passing tribute to the forest green color scheme she shared with Will and Big Alpha. This had hampered Emily when she had shopped for sleepwear earlier in the day. She had needed at least a little green, and all she could find was a pair of green flannel pajamas. She knew she’d look good in them, but she’d hoped for more. Maybe next time she could bring herself to settle for black. There was a lot of good stuff in black. Normally she didn’t bother with sleepwear, but Dori’s pajama party had piqued her interest.

“How’s Beck?” asked Emily.

Dori waved a finger at her. “This is a pajama party. Go change.” She waved in the general direction of the guest bedroom, from which Angel was just emerging, wearing her pink silk pajamas.

Emily’s jaw dropped. “I don’t believe it!” she said. “Angel, where did you get those? I swear, if you took them off, it would be less revealing!”

Angel beamed. “Good, aren’t they?” Through some kind of miracle of sartorial science, her pajamas—which were loosely cut, had full-length legs and sleeves, and weren’t the least bit transparent—managed to give the impression that they weren’t there at all.

“You could start riots with them,” agreed Emily.

“I wear these every night. I thought you’d seen them before.”

“You always had a robe over them.”

“Let me write down the tailor’s address. The man is a genius.” Angel searched around for a pencil.

Emily cut her off. “Never mind. Just show them off to Will. Once he picks his jaw up off the floor he’ll make sure I get a set.”

Dorothy came into the room. She was dressed almost identically to Dori, in a red chemise, though it clearly came from a different shop. They looked at each other, startled.

Dori smiled, “I can change if you like.”

Dorothy said, “It suits you.”

After Emily changed into her new green pajamas, Dori led them all into the living room, which Beck had furnished in oriental splendor, with four couches set in a rough square with a large coffee table in the middle. A thick rug covered this part of the floor. Each couch was piled high with a ludicrous number of pillows of different sizes, with blankets here and there for good measure. There was a large television set and a top-of-the-line hi-fi built into one wall, and a small projection room was built into the far end of the room. A movie screen could be lowered from the ceiling at the push of a button. Outside the area holding the couches, there was enough room for dancing. A large gas fireplace stood in another wall. The fourth wall held a small bar and a refrigerator. The room might have been designed for pajama parties, though in reality it was a shrine to Beck’s insomnia.

Dori had laid out a selection of snacks on the coffee table. She motioned to these and took a couple herself, to be sociable. Emily followed suit and lay down on one of the couches, propping herself up on her elbow and a heap of pillows.

The others also sat down, one to a couch, except Dori, who sat down next to Dorothy and held her hand. They ate in silence for a moment, but soon Angel started to laugh at the spectacle of three androids keeping one human company as she ate, and soon she put her plate down. “I couldn’t eat another bite,” she said, trying to keep a straight face and failing. “But, please, keep on eating. Don’t mind me.”

*  *  *

Beck had left the penthouse to make a few phone calls.

Dastun asked, “What do you suppose the girls are doing?”

“Talking about us,” said Roger. “What else?”

“Then I suppose that turnabout’s fair play,” said Dastun. “How are you and Dorothy getting along?”

Roger smiled smugly. “Couldn’t be better. How are you and Angel doing?”

Dastun waved an arm in a vague gesture, “She’s gotten moodier, and we fight a lot more. This stuff with Big Venus has her spooked. But after we fight, we make up.” He smiled. “It’s not a fairy-tale romance, but it’s working. At my age, that’s all you ask. An incredibly beautiful woman and a relationship that works. And it doesn’t hurt that she’s smart and knows where all the bodies are buried.”

Roger asked, “Has she started talking about children yet?”

“No,” said Dastun shortly.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“What the hell is keeping Beck?” said Dastun irritably. “Is he badgering the girls already?”

“No,” said Roger. “Dori threatened him with six kinds of messy death if he were to call even once. He’s just taking it out on somebody else.”

“Or ordering in a dozen strippers.”

Norman appeared. “Will is here, Master Roger.” And in fact Will was right behind him, not waiting for the formalities to conclude.

Will grinned and shook hands with Roger and Dastun. “Where’s Beck? We ought to get this show on the road. Are we up for a panty raid later?”

“Didn’t you get the word?” asked Roger. “Dori will have your head on a pike if you try anything funny.”

Beck returned. “Hey, Will,” he said, grinning. “What do you say we ditch the stiffs and tie one on in town?”

“Let’s bring ‘em along,” suggested Will. “They’ll provide contrast.”

They all went, even Norman, in Roger’s car. After a brief wrangle, they decided to start out at a nightclub that they knew had a good band and a good chef, though they had no idea what the acts were like these days.

*  *  *

Okay, Dori,” said Angel. “Can you tell us what your ulterior motive is yet, or do we have to play a game of Truth or Dare first?”

Emily was delighted by this suggestion. “Truth or Dare! Truth or Dare!” she called. Dorothy frowned at her, but Dori gave the suggestion a moment’s consideration.

“No,” she said. “A Wayneright can’t play Truth or Dare.”

“That’s right,” said Dorothy.

“Why not?” asked Emily.

Dori thought about this for a while before answering, “It’s so obvious, it’s hard to explain. I can’t ask people to tell me things I know they shouldn’t, not just for fun. I can’t ask them to do stupid things. And if they ask me, I get mad. It doesn’t matter if there’s a game.”

Emily raised an eyebrow but didn’t pursue the issue.

After a moment, Dori returned to the topic at hand. “Jason is almost ready to start making new core memories. He’s already making new android bodies. We’re tooled up to make them in different heights and builds, and in both sexes.”

Angel laughed, “That’s going to look good on a resume. ‘Designed male genitalia for androids.’”

“Complete plans were in Father’s papers,” said Dori. She returned to the main subject. “We’re just about ready to start recording people’s minds for later copying into core memories. And Megadeus core memories will follow almost without transition, since Megadeus core memories are pretty much the same.”

Emily nodded. This seemed sensible to her. She noticed that Angel seemed awestruck. “New Megadeuses,” Angel breathed. “Do you know how long it’s been?”

“No,” said Dori. “Do you?”

“Not really,” said Angel. But we lost the core memory technology a long, long time ago. I don’t know how many cycles there have been, not anymore. Roger is young. He’s been through, I don’t know, ten or twenty cycles. I’ve been through all of them. We lost count at fifty or so, and that was a long time before Roger. We lost the core memory technology before then, and have been running on existing Megadeuses ever since. Of course, a lot of them recur cycle after cycle, even if they’ve been destroyed many times before, but they never get any saner.”

“When did you lose the android technology?” asked Dorothy.

“That’s the funny thing,” said Angel. “I was around before the first reality weapons were deployed, and I don’t think I ever knew about Class M androids. And yet, they’re essential. It’s probably another side effect of reality technology. First they were an essential part of Megadeus technology, then they ceased to exist for a while. I mean, for a while they had never existed in the first place. Then something happened and they’re back again, and have existed all along, and we just forgot.”

They thought about this for a while. Dorothy said, “Reality technology is wrong.”

“Tell me about it,” said Angel. “I hate it. I always have. It’s disgusting. People aren’t gods, and they shouldn’t have to try. And it doesn’t work very well, either.”

Emily said, “Well, we’re here now. You really need an android, Angel. Every time I see those scars on your back, I feel ashamed. We let you down, somehow. You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“Yes,” said Dori, before Angel could answer. “Angel needs an android. We will be able to create one based on anyone we like. Jason is impatient and would just do whatever’s convenient. He’d say he’d do it better next time. Then next time he’d do whatever’s convenient again. We need to _choose._ They say that the fate of the world depends on its younger generation. We’re going to decide who the younger generation of androids and Megadeuses is going to be. And we’re going to start by choosing a donor personality for Angel’s android.” She looked around. “Who should it be?”

There was a pause. Emily, as the newcomer, wasn’t going to venture an opinion until asked. She looked around. Dori was also looking at each of the others in turn. Angel was not looking at anyone. Her face was troubled. Dorothy was focusing her calm, steady gaze on Dori.

Finally, Angel said, “An R. Dorothy Wayneright would do.”

“It’s not what you want,” said Dori.

Angel didn’t meet her gaze. Dori continued, “It’s not what you think would be best for your mission.”

Angel still said nothing. Dori crossed over to Angel’s couch and sat down beside her. Angel gave her a little smile and then turned her head away.

Dori asked, “Emily, what kind of person makes a good Class M android?”

“Hmm,” said Emily. “Let’s see if I can remember. With the android, now, the requirements aren’t as stringent as with the other two, since we don’t do any actual killing. The android needs to work with both the Dominus and the Megadeus, and is rarely if ever in command, but still needs to have a strong personality and a powerful will. At the same time, the android can’t be domineering. She has to respect the decisions of others. It’s important that the donor personality be highly intelligent, have a strong moral sense, and be capable of deep attachment and loyalty to one or two other people.

“Let me see, what else ... It helps if the donor personality dislikes personal violence, since the inhibitions shouldn’t cause the android distress. Abusive behavior is a disqualifier. So is a history of mental illness. Well, the wrong kind of history; people who bounce back from breakdowns are not to be sneezed at. The power wielded by the Dominuses and Megadeuses is bad for them, and their androids center them and keep them from going off the deep end. That’s one reason why it’s best if they both love their android. An ability to do the right thing in a crisis is important, as is disrespect for authority.”

“What?” asked Angel, startled.

“The android is not there to follow orders from on high; the android is there to support her Dominus and Megadeus. Paying too much attention to superiors or to orders is a handicap; such things are the Dominus’ job,” explained Emily. “Oh, and there are a lot of snooty attitudes which are crippling to an android. Anyone who is too high and mighty to deal on friendly terms with non-commissioned officers, mechanics, and engineers will never be a good android. And the donor personality needs a strong sense of self; waking up in an android body can come as a shock, in spite of the cushioning effect of the android adolescence period.”

The two Wayneright sisters nodded agreement. “What about mechanical and mathematical ability?” asked Dorothy.

“Moderate amounts are irrelevant; these skills are provided along with the other Megadeus abilities. A real talent along these lines would be an asset.”

“So who do we know who would make a good android?” asked Angel.

Emily considered. “Well, Dori, Dorothy, and I make great androids,” said Emily. “And there would be no difficulty in using us as the donor personalities. You might make a good android, Angel. All the things you lack confidence in would vanish from the job description of an R. Angel, and I think she could be very happy and effective. But you wouldn’t want to team yourself up with an android Angel; that sort of thing never works. Will? He loves danger too much. He’d make a terrible android. Norman would be perfect. Dan might be good. I don’t know him well enough. But why isn’t he a Dominus? That’s what I’d like to know. Tony would be really good, too. Beck’s too clever and sneaky to make a good android. Androids should be fundamentally straightforward people who only use sneakiness when it’s necessary, not as a form of self-expression.” She stopped.

“You left someone off the list,” said Dori.

Emily glanced at Dorothy, whose expression was unreadable, then, with considerable reluctance, said, “Well, he has a streak of rashness in him, but otherwise he’s perfect. I like the way he refuses to carry a gun. For Angel, an R. Roger Smith is really the only choice.”

*  *  *

A low overcast made it very dark. With no city lights, Leviathan 14 could make out the flash of arc welders reflected on the clouds a long way off. He moved in to take a look.

Inside a large building with enormous open doors, a Megadeus was standing upright, surrounded by a close-fitting gantry. Half a dozen welders were working on something at the base of the gantry. Leviathan 14 had never seen this particular Megadeus before. Its basic color scheme was dark blue.

As he watched. The welders stopped and stood back. A klaxon sounded, then the gantry slid slowly over, until the Megadeus was lying on its back. At this point it became clear that the gantry was associated with some kind of rail system.

A horn sounded, and the enormous railcar rolled out of the hangar. Soon it disappeared down a steep grade into an underground tunnel.

Leviathan 14 followed it along a parallel path, sinking into the ground smoothly. He could hear it better from underground.

This place was clearly nowhere; a dispersal site for his friends, or an enemy base. Probably the rail system would lead him to something interesting.

The railcar was much faster than he was, but it went straight and true. Leviathan 14 would follow the same course, and would get there when he got there.

*  *  *

Angel was in tears. “But what about Dan?”

Dori said, “It’s all right, Angel. We can make him an R. Angel, and I’m sure they’ll be very happy. You’ll see—there isn’t any kind of love dilemma that we can’t solve by adding more androids.”

“But he wants children!” sobbed Angel.

“Oh,” said Dori, taken aback. She considered this for a long time. “Well, it would be an imposition, but you could bear Dan’s children and he and R. Angel could raise them, and you could bear Roger’s children for you and R. Roger to raise, and then everybody’s happy.”

“What about me?” asked Dorothy.

“You don’t want children, do you?” asked Dori, surprised.

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“But it’s not possible!” said Dori.

“I know.”

*  *  *

The nightclub was a big hit. They put on a good show, with two excellent lead singers and a stand-up comic who was actually funny. After this, Will and Beck wanted to go to a strip joint, but Roger put his foot down and insisted that they take in a stage comedy that was just a few doors down, and whose curtain would be going up in ten minutes.

*  *  *

Angel had dried her tears and seemed a lot happier. “Okay,” she said, a little shakily. “You’ve convinced me. Sort of. My mission is important and I need the right android. All right, I can see that. And you all think that R. Roger is the right choice? I’m not being selfish?”

They all nodded. Emily said, “We had to twist your arm and hog-tie you, Angel. No one can say this was your idea.”

“And Dan … well, we’ll have to see what happens. But we won’t leave him out in the cold. He has options.” She looked ready to start crying again.

Dori said quickly, “ _Next_ item. Who is going to provide donor personalities for Megadeuses?” She looked at Emily.

Emily said, “Megadeuses should be aggressive. They should love a good fight.” She smiled in recollection. “They need to be able to follow orders, though. And its important that they form a close bond with their Dominus and android. They should be sane, of course, and have an aversion to deep philosophical questions. That’s really important under the circumstances.”

“Will,” said Dori.

Emily smiled, “Yes, he’s just the thing. Dan would be good, too. Roger would probably be okay, but not great. Beck would be a terrible choice. Norman might be good, but I suspect him of thinking deep thoughts when no one is looking.”

Dorothy smiled slightly, “That’s true.”

They all looked at her, but she said no more.

Emily continued, “It’s tempting to just replicate a tiny circle of known-good personalities, but that’s bad. A competent enemy studies our tactics, out thought processes, our strengths and our weaknesses. We don’t want our Megadeus teams to think alike. Every opponent should provide a new mystery to them.”

Angel said, “Okay, so suppose we stick Will’s personality into a Megadeus, maybe a new one, maybe a salvaged one. Who will be his Dominus? Who will be his android?”

Dori said, “Our existing Megadeuses are such sweethearts. Shouldn’t we replicate them at least once?”

“We just discussed that,” said Emily firmly, but unable to withhold a fond smile. “We should do new ones first, then backfill with repeats.”

Angel said, “So do we have a to-do list? One R. Roger Smith for me, check. One R. Patricia Lovejoy for Dan, if he wants one, or whoever he wants, because we can deny him nothing, check. One Megadeus with a personality based on Will, check.”

Dori said, “If we’re handing out androids to people who aren’t Dominuses, what about an R. Dorothy Wayneright for Tony?”

Angel laughed. “If he doesn’t get an android woman soon, he’ll explode. I hope I’m there when it happens.”

Emily asked, “Is he, I don’t know, is he macho enough for a Wayneright girl?”

Dorothy replied, “We don’t _require_ that our boyfriends be men who laugh at death.”

Dori added, “It just worked out that way. Tony’s not bad in a fight. Jason says he has a punch like a freight train.”

Emily was surprised, “Who did he hit?”

“Jason.”

“Then what happened?”

“By the time Jason regained consciousness, Tony had gone to put ice on his hand.” Emily raised her eyebrows and Dori explained, “Jason was giving Tony a hard time, as usual. But this time he added a snide remark about Dorothy.”

Dorothy added, “Beck apologized to me afterwards.”

Dori said, “I wonder ... is his attraction to androids a coincidence? Or does it mean that Tony’s a true Dominus?”

Angel sniggered. Dori and Dorothy glared at her.

Alarms suddenly sounded in Casa del Beck. The four women leapt to their feet.

“That’s the underground intrusion alarm!” shouted Dori over the din. “Come on, Angel!” She grabbed Angel’s hand and pelted out of the room.

“What’s going on?” asked Emily.

“She’s using Angel as an emergency pilot for Big B!” shouted Dorothy. “We need to get back to Roger’s!” They raced to the door.

*  *  *

Angel flung herself into the command seat of Big B and crossed her arms. Dori stood behind the cockpit, Big B’s probe cables already plugged into her forehead.

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .  
YE NOT GUILTY.

“Big B!” called Angel. “Action!”

Big B stepped out of his gantry.

Angel said, “Okay, Dori, where are these intruders?”

“They’re about half a mile away, where they imagine the exit to Hangar B is,” replied Dori. “We rerouted all the tracks last month, and the real exit is totally concealed. I’m putting video on screen.”

Angel said, “Take us there, Big B.” She let the Megadeus choose his own path. They jolted over the surface. This part of town was largely deserted and contained a lot of open space.

A couple of screens lit up with images from security cameras. A Megadeus had crawled out of a Prairie Dog railcar and was lying prone in the confined space of the subway tunnel. He was battering away at the steel and reinforced concrete doors leading to the false Hangar B.

Suddenly another screen lit up. Beck’s face appeared on the screen. He was in the back seat of Roger’s car.

“Dori, what the hell …” his jaw dropped as he saw Angel in her pink pajamas.

Angel snapped, “Beck, get your eyes off my breasts and pay attention! There’s a Megadeus punching his way into the false entrance to Hangar B. We’re investigating now. Dorothy and Emily are headed back to Roger’s and their own Megadeuses. They don’t want to use the underground. I hope. Damn it, look at my face when I’m talking to you!”

Beck’s eyes stayed where they were. He seemed mesmerized. Eventually he said in a far-away voice, “It’s the way they bounce when…”

“I don’t want to hear about it. I’m not piloting in my P.J.’s for fun. I’ve got work to do. And it’s _your_ work. Get over here and do your job, damn it!”

Beck’s face vanished from the screen.

“Men,” said Angel disgustedly.

“God bless them,” said Dori. “We’re almost there.”

*  *  *

Emily and Dorothy ran outside to one of Beck’s cars. Emily went to the front of the car and lifted the hood. “We’ll have to hot-wire it,” she said.

Dorothy got behind the wheel. The engine started.

Emily dropped the hood and got in. “How did you do that?”

“Beck always leaves the keys in the ignition,” said Dorothy, putting the car in gear and pulling out with a screech of tires.

“I’ll never understand him,” said Emily.

Dorothy said nothing for a while, but concentrated on driving fast towards Smith Manor. Then she said, “Call Roger.”

“With what? I don’t wear my wristwatch with pajamas!”

“Neither do I,” admitted Dorothy. “See if Beck has hidden a transceiver in here.”

Emily hunted around. “Nope,” she said. “But I found sixty-three cents.”

After another moment of silence, Emily said, “Are we going to wait for the boys, or are the two of us going to take one of the Megadeuses?”

“Can we do that?” asked Dorothy.

“Big Alpha will accept me as a temporary Dominus, and I’m sure he’ll let you be his android for a while.”

“How are you at violence?”

“Not good,” admitted Emily, “but I can tell Big Alpha to go ahead with whatever he has in mind. That’ll work. Sort of.”

*  *  *

Beck had been muttering in the back seat of Roger’s car the whole way. It was his place that was being attacked, but Roger insisted on driving to the mansion first, on the grounds that Big B was already fully manned, but Big O and Big Alpha were sitting empty and vulnerable at Smith Manor. Dastun had commandeered the radiophone and had called out his heavy forces and put the policemen at the manor on alert. A quick call to Big B verified that no action had yet started.

Roger took the tricky final turn into the alley in a four-wheel drift, missing the fireplug on the corner by inches. With a final wild, skidding turn, he raced into the garage entrance.

All four men hit the floor running. Dastun ran for the police office on the ground floor. Beck dashed for his car. Will headed for Big Alpha, and Roger and Norman raced to Big O.

“Norman, I want you to man the house defenses,” said Roger. “And keep your ears open on the police and Megadeus channels. Dastun may not think to call you when he should.”

“Very good, Master Roger.”

Big O’s eyes were already lit.  So were Big Alpha’s. “Looks like the girls got here first,” said Roger, as the got into the gantry elevator. They turned in opposite directions when they reached the upper catwalk. Norman strode briskly towards the house; Roger ran to Big O.

On entering the cockpit, he stopped dead.

“Do you like my new chemise?” asked Dorothy.

Roger smiled. “It sets a new standard in combat attire.” He took the command seat and crossed his forearms.

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .  
YE NOT GUILTY.

“Big O! Action!”

The armored doors to the street opened, and Big O walked out stolidly. “Get me Angel …”

“On screen.”

Angel was in the command seat of Big B, wearing her pink pajamas. The motion of Big B was doing the most amazing … Roger tore his eyes away and focused on her face.

“Three seconds,” she said, smiling. “Not bad.”

“Angel, what’s happening out there?”

“There’s a Megadeus pounding away at the armored door to Hangar B Prime,” she said. “Dori says he’s got about two more minutes before anything interesting happens.”

“Can Dori sense anything? What are we looking at?”

Dori was not in the picture, but said, “He seems sane, Roger. You should negotiate with him.”

“Is the Dominus a guy?”

“I think so,” said Dori. “The Megadeus is, at any rate.”

“Angel should talk to him,” said Roger. “Dorothy, do we have any threats in our vicinity?”

“No.”

“That’s strange. The attack on Hangar B has got to be a diversion. Where’s the main attack?”

Dorothy didn’t answer.

*  *  *

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .  
YE NOT GUILTY.

“Big Alpha!” shouted Will joyously, “Action!”

Big Alpha walked out of the hangar and then took up a station a couple of blocks away from Big O. No sense being within the same blast radius.

“What’s the plan?” asked Will.

“We’re waiting on developments,” reported Emily. “Apparently Beck has some surprises inside Hangar B Prime, so that Megadeus is not an issue. We’re waiting for the real show to begin.”

“Nice P.J.’s.”

“Thanks.”

*  *  *

Dori reported, “I’ve made contact with the enemy Megadeus.”

“Put him on screen,” said Angel.

“Whatever you do, don’t let Big B stop walking,” advised Dori.

The Dominus of the enemy Megadeus was a man of about thirty, clean-shaven, with shaggy black hair. Dori had never seen him before. He spared Angel a glance, looked back at his main screen, then did a double-take back to Angel.

“Hi,” said Angel, “I’m Angel. Did you know that you’re on the wrong side? But we have a special offer tonight. Sign up with our side, and we’ll make a sexy android for you.”

Dori adjusted the camera so they were both in the shot. “You ruined my pajama party,” she accused.

“So what will it be?” asked Angel, smiling sweetly, “Taking orders from a shriveled up old zombie, or being your own master on the side of sweetness and light?”

“You’re trying to seduce me into changing sides!” he accused.

Angel said, “We sure are. Ask your Megadeus if he’d like a nice android girl to help him with his work. The zombie hates androids. I don’t think he likes women, either. The crazy ones are all misogynists; that’s what makes ‘em so cranky.”

“Jason’s here,” said Dori. “You’ll have to stop walking around in circles for a minute.”

“Think it over,” said Angel,  stopping Big B. “But think fast, because we’re going to have to put our foot down in a minute.” She paused, and then an idea struck her, “Hey, you haven’t been in a fight with the old mummy, have you? No, wait, don’t tell me! You had a fight with him, and then he apologized and said you were right and he was wrong. Am I right? I am, aren’t I? And that was so out of character for him, it won you over. And then, let me think … he offered you this very important mission to show that he trusted you, didn’t he?” She smiled winningly at him.

The other Dominus was taken aback. “How did you know?”

“I used to be Alex Rosewater’s private secretary, so I know how a complete and utter jerk thinks. Did he go the extra mile? Did he sweeten the deal with some kind of new weapon, one that only works when you’re up really, _really_ close? He did? They packed your Megadeus full of explosives, honey. If were you, I wouldn’t come up to the surface until I’d disconnected the suicide switch and removed _all_ the radio-controlled detonators.” She smiled at him, then added. “Aren’t they supposed to be backing you up? Because there’s no sign of them anywhere.”

Beck appeared on the command deck. Angel threw her arms around him. “Think about it,” she said to the enemy Dominus. Winking at him, she made a hand gesture behind her back, and Dori cut the connection.

“That was low and despicable,” said Dori. “I’m proud of you.”

Seizing the moment, Angel kissed Beck, but it was like kissing a department store dummy. Apparently, standing between Beck and Big B’s command seat wasn’t a good look for her. She sighed and got out of his way.

“We’re saving lives with lingerie here,” said Angel, belatedly replying to Dori. “Beck, I think that idiot’s Megadeus is packed full of explosives.”

“What?” said Beck indignantly. “After I set all those charges in Hangar B Prime?”

*  *  *

Dorothy announced, “General Dastun is on the line.”

“Put him on,” said Roger.

Dastun’s face appeared on the screen. He had finally acquired a watch like Roger’s.

“We’ve got some sightings,” reported Dastun. “Leviathan 14 is coming in by itself. It’s in map reference F17. It’s being careful not to cause any damage. And there’s a group of four giant robots along the lines of the ones that attacked the amusement dome that time. They just emerged from the river at map reference G19 and seem to be headed for the Main Dome.”

“Leviathan 14 is probably a friend,” said Roger. “We’d better send Big Alpha to go talk to him. I’ll intercept the robots. Big B will catch up when he’s finished with his unexpected guest.”

“Do you really want to split up like this?” asked Dastun, dubiously.

“Not really.”

“I’ll send my main body of tanks to protect the Main Dome. I’ll put my reserves so they can go to any of the three trouble spots,” said Dastun.

“Thanks, Dastun.”

*  *  *

“Where’s map reference F17?” asked Will.

“It’s on the other side of the river. Let’s assume Leviathan 14 is headed into town and move to intercept.”

“Right,” said Will. “Should he be able to move this far by himself?”

“No. We have to assume he’s hostile. But we’ll know once we’re close enough to talk.”

Big Alpha moved quickly to intercept. Nighttime movement through the city was nerve-wracking, and they caused more collateral damage than they would have liked, especially in the form of broken power lines. But at least the streets were empty.

“There he is, on the far bank,” announced Emily.

“Can you hear him?”

“Shhh … Yes, I hear him,” said Emily. Then she began to laugh.

*  *  *

“Is this wise?” asked Dorothy.

“It’s all part of being a gentleman,” said Roger. “We’re not really sure if the other two targets are enemies, and we can’t destroy them until we’re sure. The bad guys can just blaze away regardless.”

They had taken up position on a main street about half a mile outside the Main Dome. Soon the four robots came into sight. They looked almost ludicrously like toy robots blown up to giant size. They were very crude and walked stiffly.

“Let’s start with the chromebuster,” said Roger. “But lock missiles on the second one, too. Do we have any interesting sensor readings?”

*  *  *

Beck was talking to the enemy Dominus.

“All right,” said the enemy Dominus, whose name they still didn’t know. His Megadeus was called Big Chi. “It looks like you were right. I’m sure I’ve found all the detonators. I’ll come to the surface and we can talk.”

“Just leave the Megadeus where it is, pal, and come to the surface by yourself,” said Beck. “Then Angel can take you to a café or something. No offense, but I’d just as soon you stayed out of Hangar B and don’t wander around with that Megadeus while we’ve got other irons in the fire.”

“No,” he insisted stubbornly. “I’m coming to the surface.” He cut the connection.

Two minutes later, the ground erupted in a vacant lot near Hangar B Prime. A Megadeus emerged. He took two steps out of the rubble, then was engulfed in an enormous internal explosion. Armor plates whizzed through the air in all directions. What remained of the Megadeus—not much—fell heavily to the ground.

“Idiot,” said Angel and Beck together.

“The poor Megadeus,” said Dori sadly.

“Let’s go help Roger,” said Beck.

*  *  *

Roger was in trouble. The chromebuster wasn’t having much effect, and these robots were carrying ludicrous numbers of missiles. He had run out of counter-measures and was taking damage. His own missiles had crippled just one of the robots, who had been left far behind the rest, dragging one leg. The other three pressed on.

Dastun’s artillery was peppering the robots, without effect. Everyone knew exactly what kind of munitions the Military Police had, and they just built everything strong enough that it would have little effect except at point-blank range. Dastun had some weapons-development programs, but he was short on cash and so far nothing had been deployed.

Roger could destroy the robots fairly quickly with his Big O Thunder, but that would involve leaving his protective crouch. Hating the necessity, he stepped behind a skyscraper.

“Big O Thunder,” he called. Big O’s right arm transformed to reveal the four-barreled plasma cannon.

He stepped back out into the open, and there were the three robots, quite close now.

“Fire!” he called, as he pulled the trigger. The blue bolts of plasma flame riddled the robot’s body, ripping huge molten holes. The robot withstood only a second or two of this, then exploded.

“Two down,” said Roger. An incoming barrage of missiles caused him to hastily raise Big O’s left forearm and detransform the right arm. A lucky hit to Big O’s left leg caused him to fall heavily on his face.

The robots closed in for the kill.

*  *  *

Beck used his left-hand cannon to shoot the limping robot in the head from behind. It exploded.

“Where the hell is Roger?” asked Beck.

“He’s behind that building,” said Dori. Smoke obscured Beck’s view. Even if Big O hadn’t been behind a building, Beck wasn’t sure he could have seen him.

“I hope Angel knows what she’s doing,” groused Beck. He had set her down about a mile back.

“Roger’s using the Big O Thunder and we’re in the line of fire!” said Dori suddenly.

“Yipe!” said Beck, and sidestepped as fast as he could.

The Big O Thunder damaged Big B’s left arm, making the cannon useless. At least it destroyed a robot, too. Now it was two robots and two Megadeuses.

“Hey!” shouted Beck. “That was my best weapon! Let’s use the net on the closest one.”

Just as he fired the net, the nearest robot shot a brace of missiles at Big B, and Beck couldn’t deal with them and the net both. The net smashed heavily into a skyscraper.

“Damn it to hell!” said Beck.

“Big O has fallen,” said Dori. “Roger is unconscious. Dorothy is trying to carry on.”

“Lock missiles on the one closest to Big O. No! No time. Fire all missiles!”

Twenty-four missiles streaked out of Big B’s chest and raced towards the most distant robot, which was getting dangerously close to Big O. Without missile lock, only four hit, and these didn’t stop the robot or cause it to explode. If it got any closer, it would explode on its own initiative, and probably destroy Big O in the process.

“Deploy the phonosonic device,” said Beck heavily. He had no faith in his small phonosonic cannon against heavily armored targets, but it was his last long-range weapon. He couldn’t close with these walking bombs without being blown up himself.

The rearmost of the two robots turned around and headed towards Big B. Beck fired the phonosonic cannon, with no effect that he could see. The robot moved steadily closer.

“Okay,” said Beck, “Time to run.” He started sidestepping towards the nearest cross-street. The robot fired a dozen missiles at him. One of them hit Big B in the ankle, and Beck found himself with only one useful leg to stand on.

“We can’t walk, Dori,” said Beck. “This looks bad.”

“Keep trying, Jason,” said Dori.

“Yeah.” Beck raised the knee of the damaged leg and fired the toe-mounted claymore mines at the approaching robot, without effect. He kept firing the phonosonic cannon, training it on the robot’s head, since the body was clearly immune.

Suddenly, a pair of enormous chains came out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around the ankles of the nearest robot. There was a tremendous pull, and the robot was yanked off its feet. Then it was dragged in a series of quick jerks away from Big B. Beck followed the chains with his eyes, and there was Big Alpha, hauling in the robot hand over hand. After pulling the robot a couple of hundred yards, Big Alpha fired his chromebuster at the joint between the robot’s head and its body. He had to hold the beam for twenty seconds before the robot finally exploded. Both Megadeuses were knocked off their feet.

Beck swore. He rolled Big B onto hands and one knee and started crawling as best he could towards Big O and the other robot. “Why doesn’t Big O get up?” he shouted.

“There is damage to the legs,” said Dori.

The lead robot was getting closer and closer. Beck glanced towards Big Alpha, who was just now getting to his feet. No time.

For the second time in two fights, Beck had to resist the temptation to close his eyes to avoid seeing the inevitable.

“Coming through!” came Angel’s voice over the radio.

Leviathan 14 burst out of the ground, its two front claws glowing with a golden light. It reached out and touched the robot with one of them … and the robot silently dissolved into a heap of metallic sand. The claws dimmed.

*  *  *

An astonishingly short time later, Angel was seen racing barefoot in her pink pajamas across the broken pavement to Big O. She clambered through the entry in the right foot.

She appeared on the monitor screens a few minutes later.

“Roger’s coming around,” she said. “He’s swearing at me, so I think he’ll be okay. Dorothy is unconscious. She got shocked while trying to get Big O’s legs working.”

Dori crossed over and carried Dorothy into the cockpit. Roger was awake but a little groggy. The Prairie Dog was summoned and, with considerable manhandling from Big Alpha, Big O was sent back home. This process was repeated, with much less difficulty, with Big B. Will decided to walk Big Alpha back.

Angel limped wearily to Leviathan 14. The cockpit was still festooned with wires from the now-defunct remote-control unit, and Angel had to sit on a nest of wires to use the command seat. The decoy android was standing behind the cockpit, strapped in. It was a strange and disturbing sight, though Emily had laughed when she saw it on screen.

“Okay,” said Angel. “Let’s take you away from downtown. All in all, I think we’d be best off following Big Alpha. Then Emily can come talk to you and make you all better.”

*  *  *

Dorothy found herself standing on the porch of a farmhouse. The sun blazed down. A hot breeze made waves in the ripening wheat.

“Hello, Mr. Rosewater,” said Dorothy.

Gordon was sitting in his rocking chair, his straw hat on his lap. He looked up and seemed to see her for the first time.

“Why, hello there,” he said, chuckling. “Aren’t you a little under-dressed for the occasion?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She gazed at him steadily.

“You look like you expect something from me, young lady.”

“Yes. You will speak to me in riddles, and I will go away and think about them.”

“Would you like a glass of lemonade?”

“Thank you.” She picked up the proffered glass. The lemonade was cold and sweet and tasted wonderful. It had clearly been made out of real lemons, fresh lemons. She realized that her sense of taste was something she had left behind when she had become an android, and her eyes filled with tears. Tears!

“There, there, don’t cry,” he said, pulling a red bandanna out of his pocket and handing it to her. “It’s only a dream.”

“Tell me your riddle,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“When I speak plainly, people don’t understand me,” he said. “When I speak in riddles, people can cut off as thick a slice of the truth as they can handle, but not too much that they choke on it. People have a limited appetite for truth.”

“We want to defeat Big Lazarus, Mr. Rosewater. We want to end the cycles once and for all. Can you help us?”

“Who is the Dominus of Leviathan 14?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who is the real Dominus of Big Lazarus?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is Michael Seebach?”

“I know where Big Duo is.”

“I would start there, then.” Gordon smiled at her. “And now, I see that it is time for you to go.”

The scene faded slowly. Dorothy managed to say, “Good bye” before it faded altogether.

She awoke on a workbench down in the hangar. Tony had been hovering over her, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

Dorothy sat up. She was her android self again. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

In her right hand was a red bandanna, still damp with her tears.

*  *  *

Roger held an ice bag to his head. Dorothy, who had just returned upstairs, held his other hand. He sighed. “There isn’t anything we can do with high-tech weaponry that someone else can’t do with twenty tons of high explosives at really short range. I hate that.”

“What I don’t get,” said Beck, who had both arms around Dori, “was whether this attack was even serious. Were they just probing us? Because if they were, they did a great job. If they attack us in earnest tomorrow, they’re gonna roll us up like a carpet.”

Dori said, “Norman reports that all three Megadeuses will be ready for action in four hours. Or less, if I’m allowed to go help.”

“Later,” said Beck.

Dastun walked in. Angel, still in her pajamas, had been sitting silently, looking tired and bruised. Her face lit up and she went to greet him. After a show of affection that left him red with embarrassment, she went and mixed them both drinks and led him to one of the couches.

Roger said, “Your aerial spotting is working really well. How are the heavier guns coming?”

Dastun sighed. “Slowly. But I think I’ll have a couple of truck-mounted chromebusters in a week or two. Where are Will and Emily?”

“They retired early,” said Dori. “Will said they’re not interested in strategy. Just let ‘em know when there’s fighting to be done.”

“Good man,” said Dastun. “So where do we stand?”

Roger said, “For a few hours, we’re vulnerable, but then we’ll be better off than before, since Leviathan 14 will accept Angel as a temporary Dominus. But I’m concerned about their depth of resources. We keep being hit with one thing after another. They seem to have Megadeuses to burn.”

“We might have Michael Seebach soon,” said Dorothy.

“God help us,” said Roger and Dastun together.

*  *  *

It was sleeting. Norman wiped the locator with his handkerchief and peered at the dial, which was slightly fogged on the inside as well. He and Dorothy were in an alley outside the East Side Dome.

“I believe we are very close now, Miss Dorothy,” he said. “Do you sense anything?”

“Perhaps,” said Dorothy. She was wearing her red rain cape. “It is very faint. I think the area is shielded.”

“Miss Angel said that the elevator was in a busy warehouse.” Norman looked around. The sound of trucks came from a couple of blocks away. “This way.” He picked up his heavy satchel and led the way.

They found a busy warehouse—busy enough that they walked right in and no one paid any attention. If someone was supposed to be on duty at the open entrance, the sleet pelting in through the door had driven him off.

Norman adjusted his locator. “Ah,” he said with satisfaction. “This way, I think. The elevator is imperfectly shielded.”

They quickly found the concealed elevator. Norman pulled out a small repeater unit, about the size of half a pack of playing cards. There was no obvious place to conceal it in the open stretch of wall, so he moved over a few feet and wedged it between a length of electrical conduit and a light switch. “There we are.”

It took them a while to puzzle out the call button, but eventually they noticed a pair of holes, slightly larger in diameter than a pencil, bored through a brick. Norman poked a pencil into the lower hole. A minute or so later, the brickwork opened up, revealing an elevator car. They stepped in.

There were only two buttons. Dorothy looked at Norman, who nodded, and pressed the DOWN button.

They emerged in an enormous hangar, on a walkway that went around the hemispherical chamber about a third of the way up. As they expected, Big Duo was standing there, supported by a gantry that was part of a system equivalent to a Prairie Dog.

Dorothy stiffened. “Hello, Big Duo,” she said. She paused, then added, “I am R. Dorothy Wayneright. We have not met.”

A loud, mocking voice from nearby suddenly broke in. “But you and I have! You were with that Paradigm lapdog, Roger Smith. You activated that Megadeus underground, and nearly killed me in the process!”

They turned around. A young man had emerged from a hitherto unnoticed door. He was tall and slim and had dark eyes and straight black hair. He wore black jeans and a long-sleeved red shirt. He continued, “He destroyed Big Duo, my beautiful Big Duo, as well. But look!” He flung his arms wide. “We are reborn!”

Dorothy said, “Hello, Mr. Seebach.”

“Little Dorothy Wayneright, reborn as a machine,” sneered Seebach. “How fitting! Oh, yes—I remember you from when you were human, or so they said. Little Miss Perfect, as cold as ice. Just like your father. Where is Gordon Rosewater?”

“I don’t know,” said Dorothy.

“What a mess he’s made of the world!”

“Mr. Seebach,” said Dorothy sternly.

“Yes?”

“You are raving.”

Seebach was taken aback. He stared at her.

Dorothy said, “There is an enemy Megadeus outside the city with a reality cannon.”

“No!”

“Its personality has been isolated and has been replaced with a zombie. It has a Dominus who is apparently under the zombie’s control”

“My god,” said Seebach. “What’s been done about it?”

“My sister R. Dori tried to talk the Dominus around. She tried to release the Megadeus’ personality. She freed a Megadeus they had under their control. Another friend, R. Emily, freed a Leviathan that they were operating by remote control. Those two Megadeuses plus Big O and Big B fought Big Lazarus, but it vanished under peculiar circumstances. But we are receiving reports of more recent sightings.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“I rarely lie, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t call me that!” roared Seebach.

“Would you like to meet with Roger, or with General Dastun? Both of them together, perhaps? Could you use assistance with Big Duo?”

“They are both living with that woman, aren’t they?”

“That’s none of your business,” said Dorothy coldly.

“Oh, but it is! She is the Whore of Babylon, and she will be the ruin of us all! I hear that she has gathered her lovers together, and together they run the city. Well, that’s only the start. She’ll destroy the world before she’s done. You know she will. Why do you protect her?”

“You are raving again, Mr. Seebach,” said Dorothy. “The end of the world is what we are all trying to avoid, Angel as much as anyone. More so. We have new information. The ambient reality level has increased.”

“That’s not possible!”

“Nevertheless,” said Dorothy.

Seebach looked sternly at Norman. “Is this true, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir,” said Norman. “Every word. And it’s good to see you again, sir.”

Seebach smiled a crooked smile, much more human than his normal overwrought performance. “In spite of my ravings?”

“We all carry wounds of some kind, sir,” said Norman, gesturing vaguely at his missing eye.

Seebach sighed. He seemed the shrink to human proportions. “All right. How is tomorrow at eight?”

Norman replied, “We will be expecting you, sir.”

**[To Be Continued]**


	12. Act 38: The Big Chase

**Act 38: The Big Chase**

The New Dominus was taking notes as the Old Dominus raged at him. “The repairs are going too slowly. Speed them up! And put more effort into sabotage. We know that Big B is still missing his new ankle joint. Take delivery of it, steal it, break it, burn the factory, kill the workmen. Whatever it takes!”

The New Dominus nodded and made a note. He was angry and didn’t trust his voice. The Old Dominus never stopped harping, never praised, and always blamed the New Dominus for everything that went wrong. And the New Dominus suspected that he was the only Dominus in history who let his Megadeus give all the orders. He’d signed up for mastery, not servitude!

The Old Dominus seemed to have run down. Jones (he always fell into the habit of thinking of himself as “Jones” when he thought of Dori) said, “What about the androids?”

“Forget them!” raged the Old Dominus. “Stay away from them! They’re dangerous, but they’re not important! Keep to your task. Big O is the dangerous one. The others do not have effective long-range weapons. They are helpless against the reality cannon. If we destroy Big O, we will win. Roger Smith is rash. Set your trap and bait it well. He will walk into it, even if he knows it’s there.”

*  *  *

The duty guard called upstairs and announced that there was a Mr. Seebach waiting for Roger Smith. Dorothy left Norman to finish preparations for dinner and went downstairs. She entered the front hall at 7:44 pm.

Michael Seebach was in the first floor parlor, wearing a dark red sport coat, pink shirt, and black slacks. He carried a bottle of wine and looked ill at ease. For all that, he was a very handsome young man.

Dorothy said, “Good evening, Mr. Seebach.”

“Good evening, Miss Wayneright. Sorry I’m early.”

“That’s all right. This way, please.” They went to the elevator and up to the eighth floor.

As they ascended, Dorothy said, “They’re not ready for you in the penthouse, so I’ll entertain you for a few minutes in one of the parlors.”

Seebach had been eying her warily. “Are you really the same?”

Dorothy considered this. “People who knew me then say I’m much the same.”

The elevator stopped and Dorothy showed Seebach to a side parlor. A gas fire was burning brightly in the fireplace. Dorothy turned to the bar. “Rum and coke, isn’t it, Lieutenant?”

“Stop that!”

Dorothy gazed steadily at him without speaking.

Seebach sat down heavily in one of the armchairs. “Rum and coke, all right. But don’t call me that.” He stared into the fire as Dorothy fixed his rum and coke. When she handed it to him, he took it automatically, but didn’t drink. After a minute or two of silence, he said, “What’s the plan this time? I see the domes are still up.”

“Angel can tell you better than I.”

He shook his head. “I don’t like talking to that woman.”

“She is not hiding behind a false role this time.”

Seebach almost shouted, “I won’t talk to her!”

Dorothy gave him a thumbnail description of Class M androids, their relationship with Megadeus and Dominus, and their abilities with damaged Megadeuses.

Seebach was interested, but obviously had other things on his mind, and had trouble giving the topic his full attention.

He interrupted her suddenly and asked, “What happened to Marianne?”

Dorothy was surprised. “Your wife? She died in a car accident.”

“When?”

“Two months after the last day you appeared for work at the Paradigm Press.”

“Was it foul play?” he asked.

“She was hit by a drunk driver, who also died,” said Dorothy. “There were a number of witnesses.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I have trouble remembering the last cycle. Yet it all seems so important.”

He gazed into the fire for a moment and then said suddenly, “Is that woman in charge now?”

“She is in charge of Big Venus.”

“She doesn’t give you orders?”

“No. Never.”

Norman arrived and announced that cocktails were being served upstairs. Seebach set down his untasted drink and followed them out.

Dinner was not a success. Seebach was preoccupied and jumpy. He was sitting at Roger’s right hand, with Dastun across from him. This meant that the table had all the men at one end and all the women at the other. Dori sat next to Seebach, Angel was across from Dori, and Dorothy was at the foot of the table.

Having Dori there may have been a mistake. Seebach wasn’t sure about the concept of Class M androids, and having two of them didn’t help. Dori, whose conversational skills were far more meager than her admirers often imagined, made no headway with Seebach and soon gave up. The other two women didn’t even try.

After dinner, Seebach asked to speak to Roger and Dastun alone. They retired to an eighth floor parlor, leaving the women in possession of the penthouse. Dorothy walked over to the windows and looked out over the city. Dori went to the piano and began playing her favorite jazz numbers quietly to herself. Her musical interests had been affected by Beck, who had a fondness for jazz and music-hall songs. Angel paced for a moment and then vanished into the kitchen to talk to Norman, who had not joined the other men.

Dorothy came over to the piano and listened. Dori stopped at the end of a song and said, “He’s a sad and lonely man.”

“He won’t let us help him, Dori.”

Dori played a few bars and said, “I know.”

Dorothy said, “You want to take care of everybody. I worry about you.”

“I know what I’m doing. I have a plan. I’ll do it until I break, then I’ll back off ten percent.” She looked up. “That was a joke.”

“Was it?” asked Dorothy.

“It’s all going to work out fine. You’ll see.”

“You always say that,” said Dorothy, “but sometimes things end very badly.”

They were silent for a while, then Dori asked, “How did the human Dorothy die?”

“I don’t know. Father never said.” The recording of the human Dorothy’s personality that the two androids were based on had been made at the end of one cycle, and Dorothy had died after the beginning of the next, so the two sisters had no memory of it.

Roger and Dastun came upstairs alone. They had seen Seebach to the door already.

“It’s no dice,” said Dastun. “He doesn’t trust us. He won’t join. He says he’s going to go off for a while and think things over.”

“He shouldn’t be alone,” said Dori. “He’ll get worse.”

Dastun nodded gloomily. “We can’t force him to stay.”

Roger added, “He wouldn’t accept a communicator watch. He doesn’t want us tracking him.”

“Maybe he’ll find what he’s looking for. Maybe he’ll recover,” said Dori.

“Don’t count on it,” said Dastun.

Angel returned to the penthouse and noted the long faces. She walked up to Dastun and put an arm around his waist. “No luck?”

“He says he’s gonna take a hike and consider his options.”

Angel kissed Dastun on the cheek. “He’ll be back.”

Dastun put his arms around her. “I’m taking the night shift tonight. Sorenson will be here any minute.”

“I came out to tell you that he’s just arrived. I took the call in the kitchen. I’ll spend the night with Dori over at Casa del Beck.”

Dori looked up from the piano and said, “He’s in one of his moods.”

“Maybe I can help talk him down. Meet us there for breakfast, Dan.”

“Okay.”

*  *  *

It was after 2 am. Beck was pacing the living room in Casa del Beck. Dori was leafing through one of her father’s notebooks and following Beck’s muttering with half an ear. He was stuck on three different projects. His long-range superweapon for Big B was not working out. A chromebuster was not really powerful enough to take out another Megadeus in a reasonable amount of time. The central components for a Thunder weapon like Big O’s would not be ready for three months. A phonosonic device large enough to take Big Lazarus apart required a dedicated Megadeus to carry it, as Constanze had been. No one admitted to knowing how to make a fusion beam or the more impressive weapons once carried by Big Fau. Oh, the cutting wheels and those idiotic forearm missiles wouldn’t be much of a trick, but Beck already had short-range weapons. He needed something that could take out Big Lazarus at more than half a mile.

Beck had shot himself in the foot on this project by switching technologies and canceling orders four times already. He could have had some really good missiles by now, much larger and more dangerous that the ones in his current missile launchers, but he had cancelled the order when he thought he’d be able to get a Thunder weapon.

The second project that was stymied was his android project. Everyone wanted him to start building new androids immediately. No one but Beck seemed to grasp what a tragedy it would be to botch a Class M android, and have her (or him) turn out unstable or even merely unhappy.

Mechanically, the androids were a problem, too. Their skin, with its embedded nerves, was very difficult to make properly. His workshop was having to discard well over 90% of it production. And Beck wasn’t sure he’d found a sculptor capable of expressing people properly in android form. He would be damned if R. Angel didn’t look just like the real thing, and Angel was one of the best-looking women Beck had ever seen.

The third project was his effort to understand how Leviathan 14’s disintegrator worked. When active, whatever it touched turned to sand or dust. As far as Beck could tell, this wasn’t actually possible. And when Leviathan 14 had used this weapon on Big Lazarus just as it had fired its reality cannon, they had both been flung into the future, along with Roger and Big O. From this, Beck had concluded that the disintegrator used a specialized form of reality technology. The most peculiar thing was that, according to Angel, the background reality level had gone up a little when the interaction between Leviathan 14 and Big Lazarus had occurred. Apparently, before reality technology, the background reality level hovered around a hundred. The use of reality technology had drained it way, and it was now in the single digits. Was it possible to pump it back up? Even to a hundred? Beck had been unable to discover anything for sure. Angel was reluctant to share her information with him.

Beck stopped pacing and turned to Dori. “Dori, what am I doing wrong?”

Dori looked up from the notebook. “You’re ignoring a beautiful woman and staying up when you should be in bed. Two beautiful women.” The second beautiful woman was Angel, who was asleep in the guest room.

Beck waved this away. “There must be a way of telling if we’ve recorded someone’s personality right. There must be! That’s what scares me. I love the way the mapping of the donor’s mind to the android’s nervous system works. It’s self-testing. You know if it went okay and you got everything right. But if we get a blurry recording, how do we know?”

Dori said, “If it’s bad enough to affect the senses or motor function…”

“Yeah, yeah, the mapping process will find it. But the thinking part of the brain’s the hard part, not the mechanical stuff.”

“Jason, you can’t find it by fretting about it. You’re too tired to read Father’s notes, let alone analyze them. Come to bed.”

“I wish your father would show up. Everyone’s memories are coming back so fast, this time. He’ll hit the ground running. I wonder when he’ll make an appearance?”

“People with long associations with Megadeuses come back. That’s all we know. He might not arrive for fifty years.”

“I need him now!”

“So do we,” said Dori. “Dorothy still blames herself for his death.”

This last comment finally got Beck’s full attention. He sagged a little. “Honey, you know it wasn’t her fault.”

“If she’d just stood quietly, like she was supposed to, he’d have been unharmed.”

“It was heroic, that’s what it was,” said Beck. “She overcame her conditioning. It was magnificent. How was she to know it would make her slow as molasses? If she’d had her full speed, she would have plucked the gun out of that idiot goon’s hand before he knew what was happening.” Beck sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Why are we talking about this? We’ve been over it before. God, I’m tired.”

“Jason, you’re as bad as I’ve ever seen you. Let’s try the sleeping pills again.”

“I hate ‘em. They give me nightmares,” said Beck absently. His mind was still on that terrible evening when one of his henchmen had shot Timothy Wayneright. Beck had smiled at the time, pretending to be proud of himself. He’d been such a jerk. And how much had he really changed?

“Half a dose, this time,” said Dori. “I’ll stay with you every minute, and I’ll read to you until you fall asleep. We’ve tried everything else. You’re no use to anybody like this.”

“I shouldn’t have let him have any ammo. I didn’t want him to shoot anybody.”

“Jason!” said Dori sharply.

Beck jumped. “What?”

“I don’t like this part. When you’re really exhausted, all your ghosts come back to haunt you, and then you sob until you fall asleep.”

Beck hung his head.

“And I hate it when you talk to them,” continued Dori.

“Dori, why do you put up with me?”

“Don’t give me that.”

“You sound just like Angel when you scold me,” he said.

“I learned it from her,” Dori admitted. “The classic Wayneright style is too harsh for everyday use.”

“Oh, all right!” said Beck irritably. “Give me the damned pills.”

*  *  *

Leviathan 14 moved slowly through the night. There was a certain part of the Wasteland where he expected to meet his Dominus. His android had told him. This was odd, because his android was just a decoy; a dummy that put out the right radio signals. But she had been confident, and he had nothing better to do.

The rendezvous time had not been fixed. He would go there now and wait. He concentrated on doing no damage and not being spotted.

He had moved out of communication with his friends in Paradigm, but they would understand, he was sure.

He worried that he was being conned, but he felt his need for a Dominus too desperately to do anything but press on.

*  *  *

Beck looked around and swore. “Damn it! Not me, too!” Ahead of him, under a brilliant blue sky, was Gordon Rosewater’s farmhouse. Gordon was sitting in his rocking chair on the porch. Instead of his pajamas, Beck was wearing one of his yellow suits.

Beck stomped up to the porch. Ignoring Gordon, he opened the screen door and went inside. The house was not, as he had half-expected, a false-front stage set, but seemed perfectly ordinary. He pulled a book off the shelf and read a few paragraphs from one of the middle pages. He pinched himself, too. It hurt.

Annoyed at this, he walked into the kitchen and took out a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator and then looked around in the cabinets for a mug. Finding one, he opened the bottle and poured. It tasted real, too.

“Damn it to hell!” This wasn’t like an ordinary dream. He walked back onto the porch. Gordon was watching him. Gordon’s face was calm, but Beck knew he was amused.

“Okay, spill it, grandpa,” said Beck. “Say your piece. I need my beauty sleep.”

Gordon spoke. “I’m waiting for your young lady.”

As if on cue, Beck heard Dori behind him. “I’m here, Jason.”

“Dori! Are you dreaming this, too?”

“I’m wide awake, sitting by your bed,” said Dori. “This is your dream, not mine.” She took his hand. She was wearing her usual jeans, blouse, and sneakers—not the pajamas and robe she had been wearing.

“Damned sleeping pills,” muttered Beck. “I knew something ugly would happen.”

Dori ignored this and spoke to Gordon. “Hello.”

Gordon smiled at her.

Beck groused, “You know as well as I do that this house burned down a year ago.”

“This is my new farm. It’s more convenient. Please, have some lemonade.” There were two glasses on the table beside him.

Beck shook his head violently, but Dori accepted a glass. She took a sip, and said sadly, “Dorothy could taste hers.”

Beck finished his beer and, for lack of anything better to do, picked up his glass of lemonade and sipped it. It was excellent, but he didn’t tell Dori this.

“Well?” he demanded.

Gordon looked them over. “The first thing I wanted to tell you two was that I know that you get tired playing second fiddle to Roger Smith and his young lady, but in the near future it may be very important that you do so. It will happen without warning, when you are very busy with something else. I’d like you to resolve in advance that, when you are asked to play second fiddle, you will not hesitate or ask questions. Time will be of the essence.”

Beck glanced at Dori. She was gazing fixedly at Gordon. Beck said, “Go on.”

“The second thing is that I want you to trust me. I may ask you to involve yourselves in something extremely dangerous at a crucial moment. You will need to do this without hesitation.”

Beck said, “That’s the same as the first thing!”

“Not quite. The first call will not come from me personally. The second will.”

Beck got up and paced back and forth on the porch, three times. Then he turned to Dori. “Dori, honey, I just don’t know. I don’t know this man. I don’t know if I trust my dreams.”

Dori replied, “Then am I only a figure in a dream as well?”

He waved the objection away. “That’s not a problem. After I wake up, you can tell me if you were here, too. I just can’t make up my mind about the geezer over here.”

Dori walked over to where Gordon was sitting. She held out both her hands, and he held out his. His hands were large and gnarled. Hers were tiny, slim, smooth, and pale. They gripped each other’s hands and looked intently into each other’s eyes.

For a moment nothing happened, then Beck saw Dori flicker. She was replaced by the human Dorothy in a white dress. An instant later, she was Dori again. The two girls flickered back and forth for several seconds, Dori always looking calmly intent. The human Dorothy had the same expression, but tears began to run down her cheeks.

Suddenly, a third girl—human, not android—appeared in the progression. Younger and smaller than the other two, she was clearly a Wayneright and had the same steady gaze. She had long, fine, pale blonde hair. A breeze that Beck could not feel ruffled her hair and her pale yellow nightgown. She had the most extraordinary violet eyes. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she smiled fondly at Gordon. Beck would gladly have died for her.

Then, suddenly all three girls were there at the same time. Turning from Gordon, they looked at each other calmly. They nodded.

The two human girls vanished. Dori said, “Yes, Grandfather, we trust you.” She smiled as she bent and kissed the old man on the cheek.

Beck awoke. Dori was sleeping on the bed beside him. He had never seen her sleep before. Alarmed, he shook her gently.

“Jason,” she said, opening her eyes and smiling, “I had the strangest dream.”

*  *  *

Angel was in a good mood, and in fact was walking arm in arm with both Roger and Dorothy as they walked to the elevator that would take them to Big Venus. She was wearing her best business suit—she had explained that she always felt better if she was dressed up for Big Venus. It made her more confident. She had coveralls and such on board Big Venus if she needed to do any grubby work.

They found the elevator without difficulty and pressed the button. Dorothy asked, “Did we ride this up after last time? I don’t remember that?”

“No,” said Angel,” Big Venus projected us to where we found ourselves. I haven’t asked her about that, but she probably wasn’t sure we ought to let you two nose around inside her, and of course I was a wreck by that point.”

The elevator arrived and they got in. Angel pulled the lever that started it down.

“Projected us? How is that done?” asked Dorothy.

“Moving things is pretty easy with reality technology,” said Angel. “The whole point of reality technology is that it breaks the chain between cause and effect. Just moving people from where they are to where they ought to be is easy. Expensive, though. Every time you do it, the world’s a little less real. That’s why it’s best if we get to Big Venus the old-fashioned way. I almost didn’t make it last time. You should have seen what everything looked like. Or didn’t look like. Big Venus’ hangar was just a grid on the floor, reaching out to infinity. If I’d had any idea what was happening, it would have scared me to death.”

“What did it mean?” asked Dorothy.

Roger had said nothing for a long time. He was pleased that Dorothy and Angel were getting along. Because Dorothy generally spoke little and considered what she was going to say before saying it, there was always a tendency to talk for her. He was trying to break himself of this habit.

“It meant that things were going to hell in a handbasket, and fast. The difference between what was real and what wasn’t was so thin that I was seeing mostly things that weren’t there. The grid should have scared the hell out of me, but I didn’t know what it meant. It’s not supposed to happen at all.”

“But we saw it in the sky, and on the ground, too, that day,” said Roger, and then mentally cursed himself as Dorothy shut her mouth without having said a word.

Angel paled. “You did? Damn it!” She stamped her foot. “That’s not supposed to be _real!_ It just supposed to show up on the monitors in Big Venus when we’re deciding where to put things!” She pounded the wall of the elevator with her fist. “Damn!”

“What does it mean?” asked Dorothy.

Angel calmed herself down. “It means that reality technology is garbage. Well, we all knew that. Things take on a life of its own, by accident. Like that horrible loop that Sybil and Dan are stuck in. My god, when Dan’s Sybil died in prison, you’d think it would have let him off the hook. But another one showed up, and he had to shoot _her._ And ever since the loop started, he’s had to be a guy in uniform, not …” she paused. “Is that right?” She shook her head, dismissing the thought. “And she’s had to be a beautiful terrorist.”

Angel stared into space for a moment, then asked, “How long did the grid last?”

Dorothy replied, “Perhaps as long as an hour.”

Angel shook her head. “That’s bad. You’ve seen what the reality cannon does. One world to the next in the blink of an eye. Something’s wrong. Big Venus wasn’t even active that long. It’s taken on a life of its own. And it probably isn’t just for show. It’s as if we’ve run out of underlying reality and are down to blankness.” She thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “I’ll ask Gordon the next time I see him.”

The elevator bell chimed, and the door opened. “Here we are.”

They looked around. It was a hemispherical chamber, brilliantly illuminated, with Big Venus standing in a gantry. Angel smiled up at her, suddenly quite cheerful. “Hey, kid. You’re looking good.”

“She looks a lot like Big O,” said Roger.

“Same basic model. They’ve both been modified over time. Roger, I’ve always meant to ask you. Big Venus is black and pink, and those are my colors. Big O is black and orange, but you only use black. Where’s the orange?”

Roger indicated Dorothy. “Once you’ve got a beautiful redhead, any other use of the color is superfluous.”

Angel rolled her eyes.

They entered Big Venus through the hatchway in the right foot, and went up to the cockpit first. Angel sat down in the command chair and checked out some systems. “There we are, see? Ambient reality level, 6.3. It was 6.1 before the fight, dropped to 6.0 after the reality cannon fired twice, and bumped up to 6.3 when Leviathan 14 hit Big Lazarus.”

Dorothy asked, “What does that mean?”

“The ambient level is _supposed_ to be 100. If it falls below much below five, it’s no longer self-sustaining, and it starts to collaps. The lower it falls, the harder it is to regenerate.”

Roger asked, “What did Alex did to make the reality field collapse last time?”

Angel was surprised. “Alex? Nothing. He was reacting to it. He always was sensitive that way, almost as much as Gordon, but without the other skills. No, the reality waveform runs on for a while—thirty, forty, fifty years—then collapses of its own accord. The main function of Big Venus is to regenerate it. All the equipment that lets us change things around was basically an afterthought. No, the reality level pokes along at a more or less steady level, then suddenly plunges over the course of a few months. If we didn’t regenerate it, the world would end.”

“How is do you do it?” asked Dorothy “You can’t possibly have a template for the whole world in here.”

“Oh, nothing like that. Like I said, we regenerate the waveform. Basically, we time-delay and amplify it, so we keep the world pretty much the way it was before the wheels fell off. Last time, I spooled it back about eight hours to undo Big Fau’s damage, but I let people’s memories of the missing eight hours remain. Memories and physical stuff are kept in different channels, so that’s no problem. But we don’t really analyze the whole world, any more than a record player analyzes a symphony. We just record the waveform and play it back with amplification.”

*  *  *

Beck asked Dori, “Who was that girl?”

“Did you like her?”

Beck cringed a little, but answered truthfully. “Love at first sight.”

“That was the human Dori.”

“What?” asked Beck, astonished.

“I made her up. I asked myself, what if I’d really been Dorothy’s kid sister, and not Dorothy herself? So I made up a me who really was younger than Dorothy.”

“She’s wonderful,” said Beck, smiling.

“I’m glad you like her. I wanted her to be the sort of girl you’d have fallen in love with back then, in spite of my being younger.”

“I’d have waited for you,” vowed Beck.

“And Angel would have helped make the hours go by faster,” said Dori, kissing him. “But you didn’t have to. We Waynerights know what we want. Under our veneer of respectability, we’re ruthless and terribly unconventional. Poor father nearly had a stroke.”

*  *  *

Angel stood up. “Come on. Let’s go down to the editing room.”

She took them down a level, to where the control room was. Off to one side was another, similar room, also equipped with banks of color monitors. “This is the editing room. If we only regenerated the waveforms, we wouldn’t need this. But we can tack changes on top, too. Mostly, we need to do these in advance. A few things I can do on the fly. The degree of memory loss is just a dial. This,” she brought up a display, “is the friends and foes Megadeus list. The foes get scattered to the four winds. That’s in both time and space. The friends are gathered in Paradigm in the present. We need to update the lists.”

Angel sat back, and names appeared unbidden at the bottom of each list. For “friends,” Big Alpha and Leviathan 14 were added to a list of perhaps thirty Megadeuses. On “foes,” Big Ramses and Big Lazarus were added.

“That’s right,” said Angel to Big Venus. “Save that. I feel bad about Big Lazarus, though. He’s fundamentally okay, if we can get rid of the cyborg.”

“What about Big Chi?” asked Dorothy.

“Don’t know enough about him. He’s on his own.”

“Oh, and Big Venus? We’d better take Big Fau off the ‘friends’ list. Don’t put him on ‘enemies,’ though. I’m not sure Alex is permanently crazy.” After a long pause, she added, “Take Big Duo off, too.” Roger saw that her eyes were brimming with tears.

She suddenly grabbed her purse and took out her cigarettes and lighter. She lit a cigarette and began smoking, scowling all the while.

“Damn Alex, anyway! God, how I hated him! And yet, now I’ve got my memories back, I think I’m going to have to let that go.” She smoked discontentedly for a while.

“We screwed up last time,” she explained. “Somehow we made the memory loss a lot more profound than we wanted to, and everything went wrong because of it. Gordon remembered his domes, but forgot about the fancy glassy stuff that would act as shielding and let the fortunate ones get their memories back faster than the peasantry. Wayneright didn’t remember that his memories and notes were stashed underground. I didn’t remember a damned thing. Not that I was there or anything. I projected myself forward in time. Didn’t want to be part of the chaos in the beginning. I always feel so guilty! But somehow my own memories were blanked just as completely as everyone else’s. It’s a miracle that Gordon and Wayneright remembered as much as they did, really. And I can hardly blame Alex for being totally screwed up when no one remembered enough to guide him properly.” She ground her half-smoked cigarette savagely in the ashtray. “But he’s still a jerk.”

*  *  *

Tony pulled into a parking space behind the specialty machine shop. He listened critically to the engine for a moment before switching it off. He had installed a high-performance cam, and now it had a rough idle. He felt a little guilty that he loved the sound, since it was really a fault, when you thought about it. But it still sounded exciting. Powerful.

He walked around the car before going into the shop. He still wasn’t used to the new paint job. Green, not too dark—the traditional sporting green was too dark for the permanently overcast skies outside the domes. The belt-driven supercharger required an ugly hump in the new hood. That was another thing that Tony liked while feeling vaguely that he shouldn’t. Uglying up the lines of a car was a flaw, wasn’t it? But it implied power and speed even when the engine was switched off.

It must be a slow day. Besides old Fennel’s pickup truck, there was just one other car in the lot, a black four-door sedan with an amazing amount of mud on the sides.

Tony went in. Fennel’s place was big. He called it a machine shop, but he did a lot of welding and heat-treating of exotic alloys. Tony was checking in the progress of some spare ankle joints that Beck was having made for Big B. These enormous pieces of heat-treated stainless steel could be made nowhere else in Paradigm.

The other customer was just leaving. Tony almost failed to look at the man’s face, since Fennel’s shop always rewarded a look around. But he saw him out of the corner of his eye, then turned for a closer look. His jaw dropped with shock. It was Jones—the Dominus of Big Lazarus!

Jones missed Tony’s reaction and walked out the door. Tony stood still for a second, then turned to ask Fennel where the phone was. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t speak. Well, that settled that! He raced out the door. Jones was just backing out of his parking space. Tony considered trying to force his way into the car with him, but it seemed impractical. He ran to his own car. He’d follow Jones to wherever he was going, then phone in.

His engine roared into life. Tony reminded himself that he was driving discreetly; he didn’t want to draw Jones’ attention by roaring up behind him or tailgating. So he closed the two-block lead slowly and tried not to fret when a car got between him and Jones.

Jones took a turn, and then another, and then a third, in rapid succession. Then, after almost stopping at a red light, he blew through it with a squeal of tires. Tony had been spotted!

Cursing, Tony put his foot down and roared through the intersection, almost colliding with a furniture truck. In an instant he was on Jones’ tail. Jones blew through another red light, almost hitting a station wagon. Tony, expecting this, slid through the traffic with ease. A little warning and superior acceleration helped. Next, Jones went the wrong way up a busy one-way street, dodging traffic and spending a good part of one block on the sidewalk, where he hit one woman, pitching her through a plate-glass window. Tony stayed on his tail.

It became clear that Tony not only had the better car, but he was the better driver. Jones got back into traffic in the right direction and took Tony off on a low-speed chase for about ten blocks. At one point a panel van somehow managed to get between the two cars, and with this to slow Tony down, Jones took off like a rabbit, made a right-hand turn, and disappeared momentarily.

When Tony caught sight of the car again, it was empty; abandoned in the middle of the road in front of a fancy hotel. Tony drove his car up onto the sidewalk, where it would be safe, and raced inside.

“Which way did he go?” he shouted to the doorman.

“Who?”

“The guy who was running!”

“He got into the elevator going up, sir.”

What the hell? That didn’t make any sense! Tony walked over to the elevator, trying to figure out his next move. He pressed the ‘UP’ button and waited.

About a minute later, he heard a gunshot outside. He turned around, and there was Jones, stepping over the body of a policeman, getting back into his car! Tony ran out to his own car, and the chase was on again. Jones had committed murder for a three-block lead.

A few blocks later, Jones turned his lead into a vanishing act. Where was his car?

There! Right next to the trolley station. And one of the electric commuter trains was just pulling in. Tony didn’t see Jones, but he knew he must be there. He pulled over and ran to the platform. He caught a glimpse of Jones getting on at the middle of the train. The back was closer, so Tony got on there. He didn’t think he had been spotted.

Tony managed to move two cars forward before the train started moving. Everyone else sat down, so Tony felt terribly exposed. Jones was probably two cars ahead. What to do? Jones was armed; Tony was not.

He eyed the emergency brake cord. Oh, what the hell. He pulled it.

With a screech of brakes, the trolley came to a halt. This was on an elevated section of the line; it would be hard for Jones to disappear.

There he went! He was racing down the track, back the way he had come. They were only about a quarter of a mile from the station, so he’d soon retrieve his car. Tony manhandled the door open and took off in pursuit. He was surprised to see that he started gaining on Jones immediately. Tony didn’t think of himself as an athlete, but he tried to keep himself fit. It was sure paying off today!

Jones did not look back. He slowed to a jog but pressed on determinedly. Tony closed the gap to a dozen feet, then surged forward and tacked Jones, both arms around the man’s legs.

Jones struggled and punched Tony in the head. They rolled to the edge of the track and then off, falling a dozen feet into a heap of old trash. Tony let go to break his fall, and by the time he got to his feet, Jones was staggering in the direction of the waterfront, two blocks away. Reaching the edge of this vacant lot, he pulled out his pistol and started firing at Tony, who ducked behind a rusty old oil tank.

After the shots had stopped for a while and Tony had some of his breath back, he peeked around the oil tank. Jones was jogging down to the marina, where a number of boats were tied up. Tony got up and followed.

Jones found a small motorboat that looked pretty fast, or at least looked as if it once had been fast. He jumped in and started the engine. It caught, belched smoke, and died. This process was repeated twice more until it kept running. Jones cast off and was on his way. The boat was indeed fast.

Tony cast his eye over the other choices. He’d piloted motorboats a few times, but what he really knew was engines. There! That much larger boat—the ostentatiously ugly and decrepit one. The block of a 2,000 horsepower racing engine sat rusting on the dock next to it!

He jumped on board and started the twin engines, and was rewarded by a thrilling bass roar. Casting off, he opened the throttles wide, and in no time was planing over the harbor, with the boat leaving the water entirely when it crossed the wakes of other vessels. Now _this_ was more like it! This must be a smuggling craft of some kind.

Jones was attempting to cross the harbor to a marina on the far side of the Hudson. Well, he wasn’t going to make it. Tony was closing fast. He looked around for a life jacket and put it on. After he rammed Jones, he wasn’t sure there were going to be any boats left to go home in.

Tony smiled. This was exhilarating! Too bad no one was here to see this. There were several women he would dearly love to impress with today’s work. He hoped he’d live, so he could at least tell them about it.

His first attempt to ram was not successful. Jones swerved violently before the impact and fired a couple of shots. Tony ducked and lost the chance to correct his course and ram Jones anyway. Passing Jones, he put the boat into a tight turn and tried again.

The two boats were heading straight towards each other this time. They closed so fast that Tony had almost no chance to actually ram the zigzagging Jones, who blew past him without even bothering to fire a shot.

And then they ran out of river. Jones piloted his craft at full speed into the busy marina on the Jersey shore. This area was part of Paradigm City. Skyscrapers and domes towered up in the background. Jones cut the engine and deftly managed to jump ashore when his boat smashed into the breakwater. Tony couldn’t bear to mistreat his boat this way, and reversed his engines first, then killed them as the boat came into one of the docks, hitting it, if not softly, then at least with little enough force that the hull wasn’t smashed in.

He looked around. Jones was running up the ramp towards the street. Tony dashed off in pursuit.

This was a pretty fancy part of town, with boutiques and seafood restaurants. The closest one had valet parking. Jones walked up to the attendant, displayed his pistol, took the most recently arrived car and drove off in it.

Tony ran out to the curb and looked around for something in which to pursue. Nothing presented itself for a moment, then a little pink sports car appeared in his field of view. He waved to it frantically, and the driver accelerated towards him and then stopped with a screech of brakes.

“Ahoy there, matey!” called Angel cheerfully. “What’s with the life jacket?”

Tony got in. “Follow that car!” He started to unbuckle the life jacket.

Angel got underway with a squeal of tires. As she got up to speed, she asked, “Which car?”

“See the black sedan two blocks ahead? That’s the one.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“It’s being driven by the Dominus of Big Lazarus.” Tony tossed the life jacket into the small luggage area behind the seat, and was unprepared for the sudden burst of acceleration and sharp swerves as Angel started pursuing in earnest.

“You chased him across the river?”

“I ran into him at a machine shop. It started out as a car chase, but he couldn’t shake me. I almost had him at one point! I tackled him on the elevated railway bridge! But after we fell off, he got away.”

Angel eyed him sidelong momentarily. “Well, well. Unexpected depths.” She smiled at him, then jammed down the crystal of her watch with her thumb. “Everybody listen up. I’m in pursuit of the Dominus of Big Lazarus.” She gave details of the car she was chasing and the road they were on.

Jones suddenly made a sharp right-hand turn, putting his big sedan into a clumsy four-wheel drift and barely managing not to spin out of control. Angel followed with a beautifully controlled four-wheel drift of her own.

Tony found himself pressed up against Angel by the force of the turn. The unexpected contact excited him far more than he would have expected. He shifted back to his own place and complained, “Don’t sports cars have bucket seats?”

“I hate ‘em,” said Angel. “My dates get friendlier with the emergency brake than they do with me. There’s seatbelts there, somewhere.”

Jones tried his last-minute turn trick again, this time at a freeway onramp. Angel laughed. “Not this time, sonny boy,” she said. She followed him smoothly.

After pursuing for a while, she said, “Are you a good shot, Tony?”

“Not really.”

She sighed. “I’m a great shot, but I can never shoot actual people. I’ve tried and tried.” She used her watch again and reported their position.

Jones was going very fast, weaving in and out of traffic like a maniac. Angel, a better driver and with a car with a high-performance suspension, followed with more flair. Many of the cars Jones nearly collided with performed violent evasive maneuvers of their own, leaving confusion and near-collisions in his wake. Angel was in more danger than Jones was.

“God, this is exciting,” she said. She reached over and squeezed Tony’s knee. “Don’t you think?”

Tony’s throat was dry again. “Yes,” he croaked.

“Hold onto your hat,” said Angel. Jones had gone off the left-hand lane and was in the wide median strip, which was dirt with the occasional tuft of grass. He was instantly obscured by a cloud of dust.

Angel pulled over onto the left-hand shoulder and slowed, but did not leave the road.

“There he goes!” shouted Tony. Jones had crossed the four busy oncoming lanes diagonally, bumped down the embankment, and entered a surface street. Through some miracle, the cars that swerved or braked to avoid Jones didn’t collide with one another. Angel waited for a gap in traffic, swearing under her breath. Traffic was heavy, and she had to wait a long time. When they reached the surface streets, there was sign of Jones.

“We lost him,” said Tony sadly.

Angel stopped the car and turned off the engine. She found her purse, opened it, shook out a cigarette, and tried to light it. Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t get the lighter to work.

Tony took it from her gently, flicked it into flame, and held it to her trembling cigarette. His hands were shaking too, a little. She took one drag, let out the smoke, then threw the cigarette out the open window. A moment later, she was in his arms, kissing him passionately.

Some time later, when they came up for air, Angel said, “Come on. There’s a motel right down the street.”

She started her car on the second try. Tony tried to summon the will to protest, but was having trouble remembering why he should.

As they got underway, Angel’s watch beeped. She swore so violently that Tony blushed. “Well?” she snapped.

Dastun’s face appeared on the watch. “Are you still in contact with the suspect, Angel? We’ve lost him.”

“We lost him too, Dan.”

“Don’t worry, Angel. We’ll get him yet. Everybody’s been alerted.” The watch went dark.

Angel pulled over and pulled out another cigarette. “That really spoils the mood,” she complained. “And the damned watch tells him _exactly_ where I am, and he’s got good maps.” She smoked in silence for a while, then smiled and said, “Some other time, okay, Tony?”

“Yeah,” he said shakily.

She started the car and they headed home.

*  *  *

Two hours later, Dastun summoned Tony into the police office on the ground floor of the mansion. “Have a seat,” he said. Tony sat down guiltily.

“That was great work you did on the chase. Not your fault that Angel lost him. But he got away, and it’s down to ordinary police work.” He looked up at Tony, who was feeling very uncomfortable. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” said Tony weakly.

“Don’t feel bad if you’re a little shaky,” said Dastun kindly. “You probably had enough adrenaline to make a Megadeus tap dance. Anyway, we need to follow up the back trail. We’ve already squeezed that one machine shop dry, but we want to check up everywhere in town that Jones might be having work done. You can probably give me names that we don’t have.” He looked at Tony sternly. “Don’t imagine that you should shield any of these shops. We’re trying to save the world here.”

This was followed by a tedious session, where Tony first named all the shops he could think of off the top of his head, then he and Dastun went through the yellow pages to jog Tony’s memory. Then Dastun read off names of people he knew of in the clandestine manufacturing business, in the hope that it would cause Tony to remember where they had moved on to, or come from. This added a few more names.

Sorenson started typing up the handwritten list. Clerks would double-check the addresses, many of which were incomplete, and divide the list by precinct. They already had copies of the police sketch of Jones. Within a few hours, everyplace on the list would be turned upside down by the police.

Angel walked in, winced at Sorenson’s slow, two-fingered typing, and took over. She caught Tony’s eye, smiled at him, and gave him a wink. Tony could feel himself blushing. As she typed, he tried to decode the smile and the wink. Other than indicating that she was neither sorry nor embarrassed, he couldn’t figure it out. Was it a promise of more to come? An acknowledgement of a shared secret? A friendly hello? A few minutes later, Angel handed him the typescript. He pointed out a few errors, and she corrected them. Finished, she handed the pages to Sorenson, then gave Dastun a meaningful look, and in her teasing, provocative way asked, “Aren’t you off-duty yet?”

Dastun raised an eyebrow, and Angel smiled at him. He smiled back. Tony beat a hasty retreat.

*  *  *

The New Dominus was gloomy. The police had seemingly interviewed everyone in the city who knew how to use a welding torch or a milling machine, and they had already compromised a number of his operations. At this rate, the police would back-track them all the way to their base in no time.

He reported this to the Old Dominus, who raged at him for a while, then suddenly became icy. “We will advance our schedule,” grated the voice over the speakers. “We will strike them before Big B is back in commission.”

*  *  *

Major Smith entered his apartment. He hadn’t been home for almost a week. It was a beautiful July day, sunny but not too hot. Dorothy was there. He held her tight and said, “I missed you.”

Dorothy was silent for a long time, then she gazed into his face with her violet eyes and said, “How are we doing, Roger?”

“It’s bad,” sighed Roger. “They keep hitting us over and over. Alex is dead. Big Fau got taken to pieces. Seebach is dead.” Roger couldn’t get the image out of his mind. Seebach had burned to death inside the cockpit of Big Duo. Roger had seen it all on his video screen. It had been horrible. “It’s down to me and Jason now.”

“And Angel,” she added.

“Yeah.” They both knew about Big Venus.

The enemy had done a good job of recruiting, and had hit them with a bewildering variety of weapons in a short period of time. Just yesterday, Roger had nearly been killed by some kind of three-headed creature with an electrical attack. They had found a surprising number of crazed Megadeuses. And they’d acquired some heavy artillery and were shelling the city for good measure.

He kissed her, and then the phone rang. Cursing, he picked it up. “Smith.”

He listened for a moment, and slammed the receiver down.

“Gotta run.”

“I’ll go help Father.”

He kissed her one last time. For a moment, he looked as if he were going to say something, but instead he turned and ran for his car.

The sound of shellfire increased in the distance, and sirens were beginning to wail. The sky was dominated by an enormous grid of girders and lights. It had been there since yesterday. No one seemed to know what it portended.

She watched him go.

*  *  *

Roger awoke to the sound of shellfire. “What the hell?”

Norman was in the doorway. “Master Roger, it seems that someone is shelling the city from the edge of the wasteland.”

Roger smiled. “Well, we’ll just have to go and do something about that. How’s Big B?”

“Fully operational. All that talk about Big B’s ankle joint being irreparable was a ruse. Mr. Beck will be underway in a few minutes.”

“Have you gotten word to Big Alpha?”

“He is over an hour away, but will respond. I have not been able to contact Leviathan 14 or Big Duo.”

Roger began to dress. “Where’s Dorothy?”

“She was having a word with General Dastun.”

“Good. We should all be really careful. It’s going to be a trap. We need to take it nice and slow.”

“Yes, sir.”

*  *  *

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .  
YE NOT GUILTY

“Big B! Action!” shouted Beck. Big B walked out of his hangar. He was in perfect fighting trim, or a little more so. Beck hoped his surprise would be worth all the effort. He turned to Dori and grinned. “What do you think, Dori?”

“It’s a trap, Jason.”

“It always is. We’ll be extra careful.”

*  *  *

The New Dominus was receiving a radio report. The voice of his informer said, “They’re moving slowly and coordinating with the Military Police.”

There was a creaking sound behind him. Something about it chilled the New Dominus to the marrow. He looked behind him, and the Old Dominus, his dead body strapped to his cross of steel I-beams, had raised his head. His blazing eyes glared at the New Dominus, who stared back in shock and horror. Then the Old Dominus spoke.

“Fire the reality cannon!” he said in a harsh, creaking whisper. “Fire it and keep firing it! Roger Smith will abandon caution and will rush in to stop us!”

“But the world might end!”

“What good is the world to us, if we do not rule it? Fire the cannon!”

The New Dominus began to charge his terrible weapon.

**[To Be Continued]**


	13. Act 39: The Last of the Waynerights

**Act 39: The Last of the Waynerights**

Michael Seebach was incandescent with fury. He shook his fist at Gordon Rosewater. “How dare you! How dare you invade my dreams!”

Gordon smiled from his rocking chair, “Calm down, young man, please. It’s only a dream. No harm can come from it.”

“Liar!” shouted Seebach. “If that’s true, you won’t mind if I do _this!”_ He raised his voice to a deep bellow. “Big Duo, it’s …”

But Gordon was on his feet, making alarmed gestures of supplication. “All, right, all right, no need for that, young man. You’re right, of course. Please, hear me out.”

Seebach, rather pleased with himself, calmed noticeably. “Will you speak plainly this time?”

“Would you, if you were in my place? But it’s very simple. The Dominus of Big Lazarus is going to fire his reality cannon to draw out the Megadeuses on his own terms. He must be stopped.”

“The others can stop him.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.”

“So you expect me to save the day with Big Duo.”

Gordon replied, “I will not argue with you, young Seebach. Do what you will. When you wake, the battle will already have started.”

With that, Seebach awoke on his cot in the tumbledown factory where he had hidden Big Duo. It was almost dawn. As he got up, he was astonished to see that he was dressed in a red battle uniform and black combat boots. A white silk scarf was wrapped around his neck. A black helmet sat next to his pillow.

He picked up the helmet and stared through the gloom at Big Duo. He hated being manipulated by Gordon.

Was this his fight or not?

*  *  *

The New Dominus fumed. Everything was in readiness, at least in theory, but the Old Dominus had set everything in motion too soon. Their allies weren’t ready, and lack of practice was causing little things to go wrong. Little things like not realizing that the area they had chosen for the battle, while ideal from most respects, was crossed by a line of telephone poles. The poles had vanished along with the rest of the landscape, which was now a dense palm forest. They were now out of communication with many of their allies.

He had been forced to suspend radio jamming for the moment, in order to get instructions across.

If they’d had more allies, this would have been a serious barrier to success. As it was, it was only a nuisance. So few allies! The Old Dominus had wasted most of them in pointless attacks on Paradigm. Their surviving allies had been melting away like snowflakes. The human ones were, at least. The other had less choice.

It had been twenty minutes since he had first fired the reality cannon. Right now he was firing it just once every ten minutes or so, to draw them in. He could fire it once a minute on full power.

He waited impatiently for his first victims to show themselves. Big Lazarus was probably a match for everything they could muster, but he had plenty more in store for them, as well. No sense taking needless risks.

*  *  *

Dastun was on the phone in the police office on the ground floor. “Okay. Have Sorenson pick me up here. Yeah. Bye.”

He pulled out his automatic pistol and worked the slide, putting a round in the chamber. He engaged the safety and put the pistol back in its holster. He pulled five loose clips out of his desk drawer and put them in his pocket, then put ten more in the pockets of his overcoat. Though in a fight like this, no one armed with just a pistol would last long enough to fire more than a few clips.

He went down the front steps just as Lt. Sorenson arrived. He noted with approval that Sorenson had unlocked the riot gun from its bracket. “Command post,” he said.

Sorenson drove off.

*  *  *

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY.

“Big Alpha!” called Will. “Action!”

Big Alpha strode across the pine barrens. Will looked back at Emily, who stood smiling at the back of the cockpit with the eight probe cables radiating from her forehead. Will grinned at her and she grinned back. They both loved a fight.

“Are we going to be too late, do you think?” asked Will. This was his only concern.

“No way,” said Emily. “It’s a trap.” Big Lazarus could end the world simply by draining the reality out of it by firing his cannon. That would take only about an hour of continuous firing. And his enemies, knowing this, would fling themselves into his trap in their hurry to stop him. They had no choice. Big Lazarus was crazy enough to destroy the world as the next best thing to ruling it.

“Fools rush in where Angel fears to tread,” said Will.

Emily laughed. “Don’t start, or it’ll be pundamonium here in a minute. Anyway, Angel would far rather be in the front lines than where she’s going to be.”

“Show me a map,” said Will. “Where are we going? What’s the plan?”

“It’s a good setup for us,” said Emily, bringing up a map on one of the displays. “Big Lazarus is on the edge of the Wasteland, on our side of the river. See? We’ll hit him from behind. We’ll hit him really, really hard. Everyone else will be coming in from the city.”

Will studied the map. “Rolling hills? I thought he’d want it flat as a pancake. Hills block the reality cannon.”

“They’re hardly more than dunes. _We_ couldn’t hide behind them. But I’ll be he has nasty surprises dug in here and there.”

*  *  *

Angel checked her appearance in the mirror. She looked good. Too bad she had to be scared half out of her mind for her eyes to look so large. She was wearing her best pink skirt suit. She took two packs of cigarettes out of a drawer and tossed them into her purse, along with an extra lighter and a spare handkerchief.

She held out a hand. It wasn’t shaking at all. “Not yet,” she said.

Big Venus was just a short walk away through the underground. She turned to go.

Norman was standing in the doorway. “Excuse me, Miss Angel, but can I be of any assistance?”

“Aren’t you going with Dan?”

“That is the plan, miss, I wondered if you could use my assistance with Big Venus until Master Roger and Miss Dorothy join you.”

“Thanks, Norman. You’re a real pal. But I’ll be fine. You run along and try to keep Dan in one piece.”

“I shall do my best, miss.”

Angel headed for the basement and the underground.

*  *  *

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY.

“Big O!” shouted Roger. “Action!”

Big O burst through the ground in an empty lot at the edge of the city. A few strides took him a quarter-mile to Dastun’s command post; a huge armored bus festooned with radio antennas. Roger took the internal elevator down to the ground, exiting through Big O’s left foot.

A group of over a hundred scorpion robots was scuttling down the road, followed by several buses containing the policemen who were operating the mechanical herd by remote control. Dastun had been trying to keep the robot squadron secret, and perhaps his enemies didn’t know about them, but Roger had received frequent updates on their status from Beck, who was hearing about them from who knew where.

A line of police tanks was trundling past on the road, followed by another of Dastun’s secrets: a line of trucks, each towing a 155-mm howitzer. They were followed somewhat later by a large number of bulldozers, backhoes, and excavators. A few of these pulled off the road and were soon digging trenches and foxholes.

The road was clear for a while, then Dastun’s pride and joy arrived, a pair of chromebusters, each mounted on an enormous tracked vehicle, which Roger knew had been some of the city’s largest cranes before their superstructures had been cut off. The chromebusters were mounted inside a large featureless steel domes, painted in the same dull colors as the military police tanks. These vehicles lumbered past at their top speed, no more than ten miles per hour. Two trucks of support personnel followed.

Roger stepped into the command bus. Dastun was surrounded by military policemen who were awaiting orders or making reports. The atmosphere was surprisingly calm.

When Dastun saw Roger, he said, “Roger, I’d like you to hold back until we make contact. We all know this is a trap. Let’s have our aircraft take a look and our scorpion-bots flush out some of the dangers before we commit ourselves.”

Roger nodded. “I’ll be waiting in Big O. Just say the word. Any sign of Seebach?”

“Not so far. We’ll keep trying. Big Alpha will be close enough to join the fun in about forty-five minutes. He’ll hit ‘em from behind. Big B is off to the left somewhere. Beck’s being cagey about his exact location.”

Roger asked, “Where’s Sorenson?”

“He’s commanding a squadron of scorpion bots.”

“Good for him.”

Dastun paused and said, “Hey, Roger, I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Angel. I messed that part up. Was she looking okay when you left?”

Roger reflected that he seemed more anxious about Angel than the upcoming battle. “I’ll be checking in with her soon Dan, and I’ll send her your love.”

“Huh. I thought you didn’t even know that word.”

“I’ll send your warmest regards if that’s what you want.”

Dastun held up a hand, “No, ‘love’ is the right word. Thanks. Oh, and Roger?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get your ass shot off out there. I’m sure the enemy knows that you tend to be rash. He’ll probably get you on the horn and taunt you, just to get you to rush into his trap. Do an old buddy a favor and drag your feet, just this once, okay?”

Roger smiled. “I won’t promise anything.”

*  *  *

Tony and Norman had the access plates off the chromebuster. It was really hard to repair it while it jolted down the road. The lumbering vehicle had no suspension at all.

“I think I see it,” said Norman. “One of the cables has fallen out of its socket. I will plug it back in.”

“Wait!” said Tony. “Which one is it?”

“P21.”

“That’s a high-voltage cable. Wait a second … okay, it should be safe now.”

Norman plugged in the cable, then cursed. “The hold-down screws are missing. No wonder it fell out.”

“Sloppy,” agreed Tony. He unfolded assembly drawings and peered at them. “Take a screw from P32 and use it on P21. They should both be okay with one screw each.”

A moment later Norman emerged from the innards of the chromebuster. He wiped his face with a handkerchief and shouted over the rumble to the tech sergeant, “Try it now!”

Tech Sergeant Williams hesitantly turned on the power to the chromebuster. Unlike last time, no smoke poured out of the console. Dials and lights came on in the proper sequence. The sergeant slapped Norman on the back. “Don’t know what I’d have done without you. Thanks, fellas. We’ll be in position in about fifteen minutes.”

*  *  *

The battle had begun when the New Dominus had ordered that the edge of the city be shelled. Their artillery was nothing much, just light field pieces, but they had shelled two of the domes on the south side of the river, and this had drawn a lot of eyes their way. Enough people had witnessed the initial firing of the reality cannon that Paradigm’s leaders could be in no doubt about what was happening.

The artillery had withdrawn once enemy forces had been seen crossing the bridges.

Of course, the real battle was between Megadeuses, but it was important to separate the giant robots from any supporting forces, and to damage them as much as possible before they came to grips. The enemy had three Megadeuses—four, if they still controlled Leviathan 14—while the New Dominus had only Big Lazarus. Big B was out of action with a bad ankle joint, and Big Alpha was reportedly far away. That left Big O and possibly Leviathan 14. Those were good odds, but they could be better. Allies were there to be used. Or rather, used up. It would be worth the lives of all the allies the New Dominus could possibly muster to save Big Lazarus from serious damage.

He waited impatiently for reconnaissance reports to come in.

*  *  *

Sorenson and his three men hunched over the controls in their section of the bus. Each controlled a scorpion bot. The bots were about five miles away, racing over the dunes in a loose formation, making about thirty miles an hour. The enemy was attempting to jam radio communication, but so far Sorenson and his men were having no trouble controlling the scorpion bots, which had extremely limited self-piloting skills and mostly had to be controlled remotely.

All four bots were identical, armed with .50-caliber machine guns and carrying a 250-pound limpet mine in their bellies. They had grappling hooks and winches to climb buildings or (they hoped) Megadeuses. A 250-pound shaped charge in the right place—ankle, knee, or (best of all) throat—could cause a Megadeus serious inconvenience, and might possibly put it out of the fight. But for now, they were simply scouting.

Sorenson and his men hardly knew each other; they had been formed into a squad at the last minute when some new bots came available. So they used unit numbers. They were squad Z. Sorenson was bot Z1.

Z3 said, “I’m picking up radio activity at 223.1 MHz.”

Sorenson said. “All stop. Get a fix.”

Z3, who was good at this sort of thing, announced almost immediately, “Bearing 73. It’s close. Maybe the next dune?”

Sorenson grinned and said, “Squad Z, charge that hill! Follow me!”

They galloped towards the dune and quickly overran an enemy position. A man with a pair of binoculars and a walkie-talkie—clearly the source of the radio transmissions—bolted into a tunnel. Squad Z pelted after, Sorenson in the lead. His bot managed to muscle the armored door open before the man could bolt it, then he shot the man at point-blank range with his machine guns. Sending his bot over the fallen body, he turned on the headlights and investigated the tunnel. It was packed with about a hundred pine coffins, each of which had a number of cables entering at the head end. These all came together at a large control console with hundreds of knobs, dials, and switches.

Sorenson stopped his bot, perplexed. “Androids or zombies,” he said. “It’s bad news either way.”

Z4 said, “Let’s blow the console and get out of here.”

Sorenson thought about it, then agreed. “Even if that wakes ‘em up, we can warn headquarters and just avoid this location,” he said. “And it should put them out of the enemy’s control, either way.”

They backed up and filled the console full of lead. There was no response from the banks of coffins.

“One human controlling a hundred zombies,” said Sorenson. “My god.”

*  *  *

Angel paced back and forth in the control room of Big Venus, far underground. The reality level was down to 5.8. This wasn’t cause for concern—she wouldn’t normally trigger a new cycle until it had fallen below 4.0—but unless Big Lazarus were stopped, it wouldn’t be long before her hand was forced.

Big Venus was displeased. She always wanted a definite plan for the next cycle, and Angel didn’t have one. Big Venus liked grand, sweeping plans like Gordon used to make, and was suspicious of the hands-off approach that Roger Smith insisted upon, leaving people and their memories alone as much as possible.

Changing the world was partly a matter of mechanics—of setting up Big Venus’ equipment properly—and partly one of will. You held the world you wanted in your mind, and your vision was superimposed onto the regenerated reality field. If Big Venus and Angel didn’t agree, chaos would reign. So far, Angel had always cracked first, and yielded to Big Venus.

Except for last time, when Roger had talked to her at the last minute, and had impressed Big Venus as much as her.

Big Venus wasn’t supposed to be the dominant one. They were supposed to be equal partners. But there had been a long period when Angel had been crazy, and had believed that she was a goddess and the world existed as her plaything. It was an occupational hazard. Gordon had been affected by it, too, so they couldn’t help each other. Angel hadn’t recovered until she had met Roger Smith and fallen hopelessly in love with him. Roger believed that each individual mattered, and that godlike powers only heaped you with additional responsibilities. She had withered under his disapproval and had eventually found her sanity again, more or less. But here, with Big Venus, she tended to revert to the old ways of thinking under stress. Especially because Big Venus liked her that way.

“I want you here, Roger,” Angel muttered. “I need you.” She felt trapped.

And Dorothy, too. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to have Dorothy here right now! It might be even better than having Roger. Dorothy had more force of character than Angel and Big Venus combined, and her heart was in the right place.

“Finish your stupid battle and get over here,” Angel muttered. “Stop screwing around.”

But she couldn’t call them yet. They wouldn’t come. The needs of the battle were more immediate.

*  *  *

“I see him, Jason,” reported Dori.

The screen lit up, and there was Big Lazarus facing about ninety degrees away from them, three miles away. Big B was screened by low wooded hills and probably couldn’t be detected at this distance.

“What do you think, Dori?”

“We probably can’t disable him from this range, and we probably can’t survive closing with him,” said Dori. “We can’t take him on by ourselves.”

“It’s a good thing we have friends,” said Beck. “So now we sit back and wait for them to arrive.”

“Yes.”

“I hate waiting.”

“I know,” said Dori. Beck’s genius was fueled by an overactive imagination, which was the last thing he needed while waiting for a period of extreme danger to begin. Dori moved from her usual place behind the cockpit dome and squeezed in next to the command seat. Beck put an arm around her waist.

“Dori, how did I ever get along without you?”

“I don’t know, Jason,” she said. “I really don’t.”

They waited.

*  *  *

Dastun’s face suddenly appeared on one of Roger’s screens. “We’ve spotted a group of three of those squared-off robots like the ones that attacked downtown,” he said. “They’re two miles away. They’re headed for the command post here. I’d like you to make a demonstration from map reference k5. We’ll try to take them out before they can close with you.”

Roger nodded, but asked, “What about Big B?”

“He hasn’t communicated with us. I hope he’s all right.”

“Okay, Dastun. I’m on my way. Big O! Action!”

Big O moved quickly off to the designated spot. When he got there, the three robots were moving into view. They were of the same extremely crude design that he had first seen attacking the Amusement Dome, the same night that Dastun had shot Sybil Rowan. They were more formidable than they looked. They were generally packed with high explosives and could easily destroy Big O from short range, and they often carried enough missiles to damage Big O. If they knocked out one of his legs, they could close and finish him. They had nearly done this before.

They were about a mile away. They saw Big O and altered their line of march to approach him. The dunes here were so low that they provided little cover. Roger called, “Chromebuster!” Big O took up a firing stance: forearms horizontal, hands touching. The beam shot out of Big O’s head and streaked towards the nearest robot. The robot continued on for ten seconds, then suddenly exploded.

“How’s the chromebuster holding up?” asked Roger.

“If you let it cool down, we can probably do that again,” reported Dorothy. “If you fire it immediately, you have only two or three seconds.”

“Lock missiles on the nearest robot. Use your own judgment with the counter-measures,” said Roger. The script called for an exchange of missiles at this point. Dorothy’s reflexes were so much faster than his that it was silly to have her wait for confirmation on defensive moves, though she was hesitant to take the offensive without instructions.

“Missiles locked,” reported Dorothy.

“Every fourth missile, fire!”

Almost simultaneously, both surviving robots fired their missiles at Big O. Dorothy fired the counter-measures automatically, wreathing Big O in smoke and a glittering cloud of little foil squares. Roger raised Big O’s forearms to protect his torso and face, and sidestepped to the left. Of the forty-eight missiles fired at Big O, nine struck; seven in the forearms, doing no damage to speak of, one in the right leg, where the leg armor absorbed the blast, and one in the head.

“The chromebuster is damaged,” reported Dorothy. “Broken cooling line. I can probably fix it in five minutes.”

As the smoke cleared, they saw that their missiles had produced little effect. Roger said, “I think they’ve figured out counter-measures of our own. Remind me to ask Norman to try a different targeting system.”

“Artillery fire is landing near the enemy,” reported Dorothy. “Just ranging shots so far.”

Roger watched carefully, and saw an armor-piercing shell fall from the sky at a steep angle, landing very close to one of the robots. A few seconds later, a barrage of shells—at least ten—landed close to the robots. All missed, exploding as they hit the ground and sending up huge fountains of earth.

“Dastun has his howitzers in play, I see,” said Roger. He looked in the direction of the shellfire, but saw nothing. Naturally—howitzers fired at a high angle, and Dastun would have put them on the far side of a dune, with nothing but an observer with binoculars and a radio within sight of the robots. He would guide the gunners’ aim.

After thirty seconds, another barrage came in. This one knocked one of the robots off its feet, but otherwise did no damage. As the fallen robot slowly got back up, the other kept coming.

Suddenly, a pair of chimeras appeared, bounding past the robots and headed straight for Big O. They were an unlikely looking hodge-podge of different creatures, with long, skinny legs with clawed chicken-like feet at the end, an armored body, and a small head. A second pair of jaws at the top of the torso presented the largest threat, along with a large number of tentacles, now withdrawn and out of sight in the chimeras’ body.

“Big O Thunder!” called Roger again. The four-barreled plasma gun belched forth pink fire, tearing the first chimera to pieces in only a second. The second chimera had closed so quickly that Roger withdrew the Thunder weapon and prepared to use his fists on it.

The chimera leaped upon Big O, wrapping its tentacles around him. Big O was forced to take two steps backwards, but did not fall. If the chimera could just hang on for a minute or so, the robots would move up close and self-destruct.

Roger tried to tear the chimera away, but it had quickly shifted its position and was now on his back. He couldn’t bring Big O’s arms to bear. He tried to back away, to maintain his distance from the approaching robots, but was barely able to move.

Suddenly, explosions started bursting in the air all around him. Shrapnel spanged off of Big O’s armor. Dastun’s guns had found their range. The chimera’s grip loosened noticeably, but Big O could not shake it off.

Then a second salvo arrived, very well aimed, with many of the rounds bursting within a few feet of Big O. The chimera slid to the ground, dead from a hundred wounds.

The robots were getting close. “Big O Thunder!” called Roger. The right-hand joystick transformed along with Big O’s arm, and Roger fired the weapon into the nearest robot, now only two hundred yards away, tearing irregular, molten-edged holes in its torso. After barely a second of this treatment, it, too exploded. Big O was blown backwards and landed flat on his back. Roger was momentarily stunned, but Big O, urged on by Dorothy, got up without him. Roger came to with Big O back on his feet. Roger looked around for the last robot, but discovered that it, too had been blown off its feet by the explosion. As Roger prepared to finish it off, a barrage of armor-piercing shells came in. Several shells penetrated the robot’s body, and there was an enormous explosion. One of the robot’s arms cartwheeled through the air and barely missed Big O.

“This sort of thing makes me long for the days of one-on-one robot battles,” said Roger. “Dorothy, do we have any more enemies on our to-do list?”

“Not just at the moment,” she replied. “I’ll go fix the chromebuster.”

“Need a hand?”

“It’s three hundred degrees up there, and the air is toxic.” She started to go.

He smiled at her. “And that was just the opening round. The warm-up act.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Dorothy, refresh my memory. Have I told you I love you today?”

“You are such a louse, Roger Smith! You’ve never told me that at all!”

“Oh. Well, never mind, then.”

*  *  *

Leviathan 14 lay underground and watched the approaching pickup truck through his periscope.

An old, fat man in overalls got out of the truck, leaving his straw hat and his keys inside. He walked towards Leviathan 14’s position, moving tiredly but purposefully. When he had closed half the distance, he stopped and smiled, then said conversationally, “Leviathan 14, it’s showtime.”

Leviathan 14 surged up out of the sand and examined the old man, who smiled up at him.

“I am Gordon Rosewater,” he said, “and if you will have me, you and I will save the world today.”

Leviathan 14 lowered his head to the ground and opened the cockpit hatch. Gordon climbed in heavily.

Once inside, Gordon moved immediately to Leviathan 14’s android. Not a real android at all, it looked like a department-store dummy that had been crudely modified to walk on its own. It contained transmitters to mimic the telltale radio emissions of Class M androids. Leviathan 14 kept it out of loneliness and pretended that it was real.

Gordon said, “Usually, when we talk about our predicament, we talk about reality being in very short supply. But it’s just as true to say that we have plenty of reality; it’s _permanence_ that we lack. That’s chaos, my friend. Anything is possible, but nothing lasts. Still, it has its uses.”

He approached the android, which raised both hands towards Gordon, in a mechanical parody of supplication. Gordon grasped the hands, and the android changed. A moment later, he was holding the hands of a tall, slim elderly woman whose white hair brushed her shoulders. She smiled warmly at Gordon and they embraced. The gaping slot in her forehead proclaimed her to be a Class M android.

Gordon stepped back, pulled a red bandanna out of the pocket of his overalls, and wiped his eyes. When he opened them again, he was holding a white handkerchief, which he folded and placed in the back pocket of his sky-blue battle uniform. At his breast was the label, “GEN. G. ROSEWATER.” Gold stars glittered at his collar, stamped with the number “14.” A white leather belt circled his equator and held a large silver automatic pistol in a white leather holster. His sky-blue trousers were bloused over white leather combat boots. His helmet, also white, was stenciled, “LEV 14.”

Behind him, the android woman was similarly garbed, though without helmet or pistol. Her name tag read “CAPT. B. ROSEWATER.” Eight probe cables now radiated from the slot in her forehead, connecting her directly to Leviathan 14’s mind.

Gordon walked around to the front of the cockpit and eased his bulk into the command seat.

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD .  .  .   
YE NOT GUILTY

Gordon called, “Leviathan 14, action!”

Filled with an indescribable joy, Leviathan 14 plunged beneath the sand and moved quickly in the direction Gordon indicated. He felt that he would happily die for this old man and his android—and rather expected that he would soon do so.

*  *  *

The New Dominus was hopeful. The fight with Big O was not being observed by any of his men, but the odds seemed favorable. It seemed certain the Big O would be damaged, at least, by the encounter. He was bothered by reports of howitzer fire, however. Artillery could easily outrange Big Lazarus’ reality cannon, and massed artillery fire could inconvenience or even damage a Megadeus. Probably they could not move up into range of Big Lazarus in time. Still, why take chances?

“Let’s concentrate all our forces on their command post,” he decided.

*  *  *

Sorenson and squad Z charged over another dune and found themselves in the middle of a milling mob of zombies.

“Bunch up, retreat, keep firing!” called Sorenson. It was easy to forget that he and his team were safely in a bus, and the scorpion bots were being run by remote control. Sorenson changed channels. “Squad Z in contact with a group of about thirty zombies at map reference J7,” he told the duty officer.

“Squad Z, thirty zombies, J7,” repeated the duty officer. “Have fun.”

Sorenson returned to the task at hand. He and his men were trying to get out of the mob, but the zombies had hurled themselves on the scorpion bots and were trying to flip them over. Z3 was already on his back. A zombie, though hard to disable, was no match for a fifty-caliber machine gun, but there were a lot of them and they were right on top of the bots, so that the only ones you could shoot were the ones who weren’t doing any harm. Sorenson told Z2 and Z4 to pair off, each shooting the zombies that were menacing the other, while he shot the zombies menacing Z3. “If you have any idle moments, you can lend me a hand,” he said.

Eventually, they finished off the zombies and even managed to right Z3. Sorenson was out of ammunition. “How are we doing on ammo?” he asked the squad.

Everyone was practically out. Sorenson reported this to the duty officer. “Come back to base and arm up,” the officer decided.

On their way back, they found the New Dominus’ main force.

*  *  *

Beck was watching Big Lazarus glumly. Irregularly, every five or ten minutes, he would fire the reality cannon, and part of the landscape would change. There was now a stretch of tundra, an impenetrable pine forest, a sheet of ice, and what was apparently a feed lot, since the ground had been completely obscured by wall-to-wall sheep. The most recent firing had produced a stretch of glowing, smoking ground. Volcanic, Beck supposed.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he moaned. Big O should be here. He’s got the right weapons. I should be supporting Dastun. I’m all tricked out for that kind of work.”

He paused, then said, “Dori, let’s skedaddle. I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna be needed elsewhere. Roger’s going to have to take out Big Lazarus. Nothing else makes sense.”

“All right, Jason,” said Dori, who was still standing next to the command seat, her arm around him.

“I’m not chickening out? It feels all wrong,” he complained.

She kissed him on the forehead. “I think everyone will be glad to see us.”

*  *  *

Sorenson reported his find to the duty officer. Hundreds of zombies, five of the big robots, and four chimeras so far, plus miscellaneous human support troops in light tanks similar to those used by the military police.

Z1 asked, “What do we do now, Lieutenant?”

Sorenson grinned, “Let’s blow up the robots with our limpet mines.”

There was a chorus of, “All right!” “Woo-hoo!” and “Let’s do it!”

Sorenson spent a moment making sure everyone knew which robot to target—they were each going to target a different one—and then shouted, “Charge!”

They pelted down from their position of semi-concealment on the flank and sped directly to the robots. Probably the robots didn’t see them coming, for they didn’t react at first. Sorenson got behind his robot and aimed the grapnel gun. The neckless robot was not an easy target for ordinary grapnels. “Use the magnetic anchor,” he said over the radio, then fired. The grapnel went up, over the robot’s shoulder, and stuck to his chest. Good. Sorenson hit the button that would reel him in. Soon he was being pulled forward, the scorpion bot skipping over the ground, and then he was up in the air, twisting around. When he reached the level of the robot’s torso, he had to scrabble with the insectile legs to get faced the right way. He was swinging crazily with the robot’s motion, but that was good, because he wanted to be about six feet to the right … there! He hit the limpet mine’s “deploy” button, and it shot out of the abdomen of his scorpion bot and clamped itself onto the robot. Sorenson then hit the “arm,” button, set the time delay to 20 seconds, and hit the “fire” button. Then he pressed the “release” button on the grapnel, and his bot fell heavily to the ground, breaking one leg. Time to get the heck out of Dodge. His bot limped quickly off to the flank.

He surveyed the situation. A squad of zombies was moving up to support the giant robots, but hadn’t closed yet. Z1 was finished and was returning. Z4 was having to fire his grapnel a second or maybe a third time; he hadn’t really started yet.

“Aw, man!” said Z3.

Z3 was in pieces on the ground. A robot had stepped on it.

“I couldn’t get the grapnel to work, and then…” said Z3’s pilot beside Sorenson, but Sorenson’s attention was distracted by the explosion of his limpet mine, which sent smoke and flame out of all the joints in the robot’s armor, but seemed to have no other effect.

“Damn it!” said Sorenson. The robot took several more steps, then suddenly exploded.

“All right!” shouted Sorenson, jubilant. Z1’s mine went off, and his robot exploded immediately.

“Z4, rejoin the group. Let’s head on home,” said Sorenson. If they moved fast, they could re-arm before the attack came.

*  *  *

“Hiya, Roger old pal!” said Beck gaily to Roger’s image on the screen. “Did you miss me?”

“Hello, Beck,” said Roger. “I’m glad you’re here. Why don’t you close to about a quarter mile from me and we’ll head off to the fight that’s brewing between Dastun and Big Lazarus.”

“You got it. If we’re going to stay on the left flank, let me cross to your right. I’m better armed for infighting.”

“All right.”

“How’s Roger treating you, Dorothy? You look a little singed.”

“It was hot up in the chromebuster. We broke a cooling line. It’s fixed now,” said Dorothy. “Beck, you’re chattering,” she continued, but not coldly.

“Nerves. I’ll stop,” promised Beck. He urged Big B into his fastest walk and soon crossed behind Big O. They hurried towards Dastun’s command post. Since the enemy was coming to them, Dastun was throwing up earthworks and sighting in his artillery. The two chromebusters were together on the right, on a dune overlooking the command post and the ground ahead of it, slightly behind the crest of the dune, so only their domes showed. Dastun’s howitzers were a couple of miles to the rear. They didn’t need to see their targets, anyway. Forward observers scattered here and there would direct their fire. They would be connected by telephone to the command post by wires laid in a few minutes from a reel on the back of a speeding pickup truck. Radio jamming would not affect them, which was just as well, since the New Dominus had turned on a number of powerful transmitters and was making radio communication tricky. The high-tech equipment in the Megadeuses was unaffected, but the scorpion bots were becoming hard to control, and ordinary field radios worked only over very short distances.

“Look at all those trenches,” said Beck. Dastun had not only dug a remarkable number of ditches, but had brought up flat-bed trucks carrying lengths of four-foot-diameter galvanized culverts, which were rolled off the trucks and into the trenches here and there, then covered with earth, to provide instant bunkers. Beck continued, “Protection from artillery and the reality cannon both. Man, Dastun must be planning to shell his own position.”

“Jason,” warned Dori. Beck was chattering again.

“Sorry.”

A moment later, five hundred zombies came into view over the last rise before the command post, half a mile away. Just behind them, light wheeled tanks appeared at the crest and stopped. They aimed their rocket launchers and fired. Shells burst near Dastun’s line, raising a huge cloud of smoke and obscuring the defenders’ aim.

Because of their height and the fact that they were off to the left of Dastun’s lines, this did little to block Big O’s and Big B’s line of sight. Roger set Big O the task of picking off the zombies one by one with his eye lasers. Beck, not nearly so deft, took his time and aimed slowly and carefully at the enemy tanks. He got two before the others backed down the rise and out of sight.

Dastun’s howitzers suddenly came into play, firing independently and keeping up a steady barrage over the ground in front of Dastun’s lines. The shrapnel tore a hundred zombies to piece, but the rest kept coming. When the zombies were four hundred yards from Dastun’s lines, a swarm of a hundred Military Police scorpion bots arrived at the back of the command post, raced through it, leapt the trenches, and started firing at the zombies from point-blank range. The artillery barrage never let up for a second. Shrapnel and body parts rained down on the scorpion bots as they kept up their gruesome work. Suddenly, though, with about half the zombies dead, all the scorpion bots went rigid. The New Dominus’ counter-measures team had completely jammed their control frequencies.

Big B hurried down to the fight, entering the fray slightly ahead of the trenches. It was vital that as few zombies as possible make it into the trenches and hand-to-hand fighting with Dastun’s men. He fired the claymore mines in Big B’s toes, cutting huge swaths of zombies and scorpion bots alike to ribbons. Then he tried the phonosonic device on the zombies in the rear of the pack.

“Wow!” he said. The beam turned the ground under the zombies’ feet into a sort of slurry, into which they quickly sank. But not quickly enough—it turned the zombies into a sort of slurry, too. Some of them, perhaps older and more dried out, shattered instead.

“Keep it away from our forces, Jason,” said Dori. “The entrenchments won’t hold up to this.”

Beck nodded, grinning from the sheer joy of destruction. “This is great!” he exulted. “Take that, you bastards!”

“Jason!” snapped Dori. “Control yourself!”

Jason calmed instantly. “Sorry, honey. What should we do next?”

*  *  *

Beck’s claymore mines destroyed Squad Z’s remaining scorpion bots. Sorenson swore and ripped off his headset. Turning around, he saw a zombie rip the door of the control bus off its hinges. He picked up his riot gun from the floor and pumped three rounds into the zombie before it stopped coming. There was another one behind it. Z3 shot it with his submachine gun while Sorenson frantically thumbed more shells into his shotgun.

Beside him, a zombie was trying to punch through the metal wall of the bus, but it had been armored, and the zombie was only denting it. Shouts and gunfire at the other end of the bus told them that the other bot pilots were not idle.

After shooting several more zombies that tried to come in through the door, Sorenson was presented with an unusually bulky-looking one. He knew what this meant. He shot it in the head and shouted, “Cease fire!” but the gunfire had left everyone half-deafened. Several men fired into the body of the zombie. The zombie’s bulk consisted of high explosives. One of the bullets set them off.

*  *  *

Roger, lacking the anti-personnel weaponry of Big B, kept his eyes open for bigger game. He prowled around on the left flank, ahead of the command post, hoping to spot an enemy before it was ready for him. Beck was having a grand old time and probably wasn’t paying attention to the big picture.

The two chromebusters on the hill fired together. There was an immense explosion in the distance. They’d hit one of the three surviving enemy robots!

Roger still couldn’t see the robots. Big O moved forward, hardly needing any urging from Roger. There they were, about a mile away.

“Save Big O Thunder for Big Lazarus,” said Dorothy suddenly.

“Good idea,” said Roger. “I’ll use the chromebuster.” He moved Big O another few hundred yards, where he’d get a better shot, and took up a firing stance.

“Incoming missile lock,” said Dorothy.

Roger swore and aborted the chromebuster firing. Dorothy fired the countermeasure cloud. Only eight missiles were fired by the enemy, and not one struck home. Big O stepped out of the cloud.

“Incoming missile lock,” said Dorothy again.

“Damn!” The countermeasures were good for two good clouds, and maybe a third one if they were lucky.

“Twenty-four missiles fired,” said Dorothy.

“Well, let’s do what we can,” said Roger. He took a few steps backwards, to get some partial shielding from the nearest dune. Then, when Dorothy fired the counter-measures—producing only a puny cloud—He flung Big O onto his back, forearms raised to protect his torso and head.

Only four missiles struck, and all of them were absorbed harmlessly by the forearm armor.

“Ha!” said Roger. “That foxed them!”

Big O was just getting to his feet when two chimeras jumped him and pulled him back down to the ground.

“This is familiar,” said Roger. “See if Dastun can get us some help.”

Dorothy reported a moment later, “Their artillery isn’t sighted in on our location. He’s sending Big B.”

Roger managed to roll over on one of the chimeras, which, though not killed by this maneuver, lost interest in the fight briefly. Then he started to pluck at the other chimera’s tentacles and legs, trying to pull it off his back.

Big B arrived during this inconclusive stage of the fight. All the shrapnel had wrecked his phonosonic device, so Beck used the eye lasers to carve up the chimera. These were his least-powerful weapon, and the process took a while. When the chimera weakened, Big O wrenched it free and punched it with the arm pistons several times, until there was nothing recognizable left. Then he picked up the wounded chimera and did the same.

“Heads up!” shouted Beck. The two surviving robots were drawing near. Both were partly slagged down from chromebuster fire from Dastun’s command post.

“Let’s take out the first one with chromebusters,” suggested Roger.

“You got it, Roger old buddy,” agreed Beck.

They gave it ten full seconds, and it neither stopped nor blew up.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, old pal,” said Beck. “Let’s give him the net!”

Big B bent forward, and his back armor lifted. From out of the gap a huge metal net whirled out, propelled by rockets that took it forward and spun it at high velocity. It enveloped the approaching robot and internal motors caused it to cinch down tight. The robot, immobilized, toppled onto its face.

“Now for the other one!” shouted Roger. But Beck was already striding forward. “You know what I think, Roger old friend?” he said. “These guys don’t have the usual explosives. So I’m going to finish him off …”

The end of his sentence was cut off by a barrage of missiles from the robot. They caught Beck unprepared and hammered Big B all over. His right leg was damaged and his chromebuster and eye lasers were destroyed.

“Damn it!” shouted Beck. “Those are expensive to repair!” Dragging his right foot, Big B kept going towards the robot, extending his left-hand cannon and right-hand plasma lance. A shot from the cannon to the robot’s head stopped it in its tracks, and a low sweep of the plasma lance removed its left leg. With a push from Big B’s left hand, the robot toppled over backwards.

A chimera appeared from nowhere and leaped at Big B’s chest, toppling him over backwards. Beck managed to get his left-hand cannon right up against the chimera’s body, and blew it to rags in a single shot.

“What a nightmare,” he said. “Help me up, Roger old pal.”

Big O came over and pulled Big B to his feet.

Roger got on the radio. “Dastun, what’s happening?”

“We seem to have run out of enemies, Roger. Those chimeras were the last of them.”

Roger looked grim. “So now it’s down to Big Lazarus.”

“Damn this leg!” interjected Beck, coughing.

“Are you okay, Beck?” asked Roger.

“There’s some smoke in the cockpit. I’m fine,” said Beck. “But this damned leg of Big B’s isn’t going to fix itself in a hurry.” Beck cut the connection.

Roger wasn’t listening. He was staring off into the distance, where Big Lazarus was waiting.

Suddenly, Angel’s face appeared on the screen. She looked worried and irritated. “Aren’t you done yet, Roger? Reality’s down to 4.4. I’m going to have to trigger a new cycle if you don’t get your butt in here, and if I do that with a crazy Megadeus still on the prowl, his mind is going to have a huge effect on the whole next cycle.”

Roger growled, “Damn it, Angel, I’m working on it!”

“I need you here,” said Angel earnestly. “I need you to remind me about … about right and wrong. That zombie’s going to ruin everything unless my head is on straight, and it won’t be, I just know it. So kill the zombie _now,_ or give up and get over here. One or the other. He’s firing that damned reality cannon every minute now. We don’t have much time.”

Roger looked off into the distance. Big Lazarus was out of sight a few miles away. “Every minute?”

He didn’t hear Angel’s answer. He and Big O were of one mind. They headed straight towards Big Lazarus as fast as they could.

*  *  *

“Damn you, Big B! Get a move on!” shouted Beck.

“The chromebuster is irreparable, Jason,” said Dori calmly, “So are the eye lasers. Damage to the right leg will reduce our speed to one-third.”

Beck looked around the cockpit, which was filled with smoke outside the dome. “I’m out of ideas, Dori. We won’t even be able to draw enough fire to help Big O if we aren’t a convincing threat.”

Dori opened her mouth to speak, but just then they heard Angel’s voice. She sounded panicky, almost hysterical.

“Beck, Dori, please!” Angel called. “Please, I need your help!”

Beck glanced at Dori. He remembered their promise to Gordon, in his dream. Dori nodded and said, “We hear you, Angel.”

“Step across! Do it right now!”

Beck glanced at his map and said, “Big B, retreat to the crossroads behind the command post. Then send out a repair alert to Tony.” He sighed, but then smiled crookedly. “You did good, Big B. Sorry to leave you, but duty calls.” Beck took Dori’s hand and squeezed it, then they took a step forward.

The two of them stepped forward out of Big B’s cockpit …

The _three_ of them emerged into the control room of Big Venus.

“Hello,” said the human Dori. “I’m here to lend a hand.”

The dramatic effect of this unexpected appearance was rather ruined by Angel, who had thrown herself into Beck’s arms the moment he had appeared and was sobbing on his shoulder. It wasn’t clear if she had even noticed the human Dori, and Beck was hard-pressed to divide his attention between an Angel who had broken down at the worst possible time and a girl whom he had fallen in love with on sight, the only other time he had seen her.

R. Dori rolled her eyes. “Poor Jason.” She gave the human Dori a hug. “Don’t mind them.”

*  *  *

The New Dominus leaned back in his chair with satisfaction. “Big B turned up after all, but is now out of the fight. And Big O is rushing in rashly, without support and without a plan.” He risked looking back at his zombie master, the Old Dominus, who was watching him with burning dead eyes. “It’s just as you predicted.”

*  *  *

“Thank god you’re here,” said Angel again. “It’s horrible when I’m here by myself. I’m not cut out to be a lonely goddess. I need help to stay sane, here. All my old errors, they seem so _right_ when I’m here by myself. And it’s just the same with Big Venus.’

She turned and saw the human Dori. Her mouth fell open. “Who are you?”

The human Dori wore faded blue overalls, a blue and white checked shirt, and brown farm boots. Her long, fine blonde hair fell halfway down her back. Perhaps five feet tall, she was a slim girl of no more than  sixteen, with the calm assurance of a Wayneright. Pale, she had a scattering of freckles across her nose. Her eyes were a fascinating violet.

“I’m the human Dori,” she said.

“The human Dori?” echoed Angel.

“I started out as a fantasy of Dori’s, but with one thing and another, I’ve become real, for the moment,” she said seriously. “Grandfather Gordon sends his regards, and me. I’ve been fully briefed.”

“Grandfather Gordon?” asked Angel helplessly.

“He’s not really my grandfather. I just call him that.”

Trying to get a grip on the situation, Angel asked, inanely, “How old are you?”

“From your point of view? Perhaps a few weeks? I’m not sure, exactly. From my point of view, I’m fifteen years, eleven months, and two days old, not counting all that time on Grandfather Gordon’s farm.” She turned to Beck. “So I’m sixteen, Jason, all right?”

Angel pressed on. “What are we supposed to do?”

The human Dori said, “Don’t worry. You’re supposed to do what you’d normally do, unless one of Grandfather’s plans works out. Then I’ll tell you what he wants you to do.”

Angel turned and looked at her monitors. She sighed with relief. “Right now, we’re still waiting. The damage isn’t enough to force me to act.”

“Yes,” said the human Dori. She walked over to the screens and studied them. “Good. You’re not watching the battle. Reality is down to 4.3 already.”

Angel said, “It’s time to take Big Venus up to the surface, but not to emerge into the open yet. Dori, are you plugged in?”

She turned, and saw that Dori wasn’t.

Dori said, “I’m having an argument with Big Venus. She wants to use the real probe sockets, not the attenuated ones.”

The human Dori nodded. “It’s essential.”

Dori continued, “But getting to the sockets means that all this circuitry has to be removed from my head.” She turned to Beck, “Jason, am I ready for this?” She looked up at him and asked, “Are you all right, Jason?”

Beck managed a weak smile. It was just like Dori. His discomfort loomed larger in her mind than her own peril, no matter how dire. “I’m fine, honey,” he said.

This moment had haunted his dreams ever since he had decided to activate Dori in the first place. She loved him. She couldn’t help it. She was programmed to do so, as part of the suite of instincts, inhibitions, and compulsion that guided an android through her brief adolescence. In the end, all the associated circuitry and programming was removed, and Dori would be free to love as she chose. Beck knew that he was deeply flawed. How could he go on living if she stopped loving him?

He said, “Dori, honey, you’re ready. You have been for a while now. I just don’t know if I’m ready.”

He took a deep breath. “Angel, I’ll need some hand tools. This will only take a few minutes.”

He had Dori lie down on the floor. He got to work removing first the disk drive in the front of her forehead, then the circuitry behind it. His eyes brimmed with tears, but he needed both hands to work. The human Dori, unasked, took a red bandanna from her overalls and blotted his tears. Tears streamed unheeded down her own cheeks, but she was smiling.

Halfway through the procedure, Dori went rigid. Beck had expected this, but as she lay there as if dead, he felt as if his own heart had stopped. He kept working.

Finally, it was done. Dori lay motionless, her eyes glazed and unseeing. Beck lay down his screwdriver, took the human Dori’s bandanna, and wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

Big Venus, seeing an opportunity, moved her probe cables near, but the human Dori batted them away, hissing, “Stop it! Stop it! You’re ruining the moment!”

Beck noticed none of this. He kissed Dori gently on the lips and said, “Dori, honey, it’s time to wake up.”

Dori’s lips twitched. She murmured, “Not until you say it.”

Suddenly, Beck grinned. “I love you, Dori!” he said in a strong voice.

Life rushed back into Dori. Her eyes lit up and she smiled. Grabbing Beck, she kissed him and said, “I love you too, Jason, and don’t you forget it!”

Leaping to her feet, she said, “What are you all staring at? We have a world to save!”

Big Venus, on cue, jammed the probe cables into Dori’s head so hard that she was forced back a step.

Dori’s eyes glazed for a moment. “Wow!” Then she said, “I’m fine, Jason. Thank you.” She turned to Angel, “We’re ready now.”

*  *  *

Dorothy asked sharply, “Do we have a plan?”

“We’ll try to take him out with the Big O Thunder. I ought to be able to do it beyond the range of the reality cannon.”

Dorothy radiated silent disapproval but said nothing. Roger wasn’t even _trying_ to coordinate this attack with their remaining allies.

About three miles from Big Lazarus, they started seeing fringe effects from the damaged reality. In addition to the main effect of replacing one piece of countryside with another, the weapon drained the reality of the whole world, with the strongest effect nearest the point of firing. Roger discovered that if he closed his eyes and opened them again, the landscape had changed subtly in the meantime. And a faint grid was beginning to overlay the landscape. Another, even fainter, was in the sky.

Soon they reached the edge of the main reality effect. The grid was more visible here. Roger found himself on an endless plain covered with rounded stones. Two miles away stood Big Lazarus.

Big Lazarus looked remarkably like Sea Titan; massive and very rounded, though all the individual details were different. The reality cannon made it impossible to guess the Megadeus’ true colors; it was overlaid with glowing white and black patches that swirled and chased one another over its surface, different from and yet reminiscent of the negative-image effect of Big Venus’ equipment.

Big O moved steadily towards Big Lazarus. Big Lazarus fired his reality cannon directly at Big O, causing Roger a momentary feeling of disorientation. Then he was standing in the middle of a field of ripening corn. A farmhouse stood some distance behind him.

When Roger was a mile away, he stopped Big O and called “Big O Thunder!” Big O’s arm transformed.

Roger pulled the trigger with all his strength. The four-barreled plasma gun sent bolts of flaming death towards Big Lazarus, but bounced harmlessly off a spherical energy shield that suddenly glowed pink under the onslaught.

“Chromebuster!” called Roger in desperation, but he knew that this wouldn’t penetrate, either. It was the same kind of force shield used by Big Fau. Sure enough, it had no effect.

Roger growled deep in his throat, then said, “He probably can’t fire his reality cannon with his screen up. Maybe we can move and fire and get closer that way…”

Big O raced towards Big Lazarus.

*  *  *

Big Venus had been brought to the surface and was now in her open-topped silo. Above her, a grid of lights and girders hung in the sky. A faint grid overlaid the buildings and landscape as well.

The human Dori’s overalls suddenly changed into a sky-blue uniform. Her collar insignia were simple gold circles with the number 14. Her name tag said, “CDT. D. WAYNERIGHT.” She wore the same kind of automatic pistol on her white belt as Gordon. It seemed enormous on her small frame.

The human Dori looked at these changes with satisfaction. “Grandfather … I mean General Rosewater wants us to know that he is commanding Leviathan 14.”

Angel asked, “Will he join the fight?”

“Possibly, but he has something better in mind.”

Angel said, “Reality is down to 3.1.”

“Good,” said the human Dori. “Now is the time for you to learn how to change reality the easy way, without triggering a new cycle.”

“What’s the point?” asked Angel in exasperation. “Things are barely real anymore as it is! New things won’t last.”

“Some of them will,” said the human Dori imperturbably, “and the rest will last long enough.”

And she told them how it was done.

*  *  *

“Wow,” said Will, watching Big O on one of Big Alpha’s monitors, “Roger’s even crazier than me!”

Emily smiled at him, “What’s the plan, Will? Do we just charge in, too? I’m up for it.”

Will looked at her speculatively. “How low is the reality level, do you think?”

“Right here? Low. Really low. We could change this whole landscape just by looking at it funny.”

“Remember what we did that one time?”

“No. Wait …” She grinned. “Why, yes, I do!”

“Okay, concentrate with me. Remember what we thought was a big empty space in Big Alpha’s torso? It held a cloaking engine all the time.”

“How silly of us not to notice it! I love you, Will.”

“Well, of course you do.” A control panel faded in and out of vision several times, then solidified. “Let’s have full cloaking, and let’s get moving!”

The view outside of Big Alpha began to shimmer, a side effect of the cloaking device. Big Alpha began to move, clenching and unclenching his fists in anticipation.

*  *  *

The human Dori announced, “We’ll start by getting rid of the superstructure and stage lights.”

“Why?” asked Angel, then, “Oh, never mind. I always hated that damned superstructure anyway. It appeared back when I was off the deep end, when I didn’t believe anything was real anymore; that it was all a show that I was directing.” She suddenly scrabbled around in her purse for her cigarettes. “It shows up on its own during particularly dramatic moments.” She lit a cigarette. “I hate it.”

R. Dori had been silent for some time, but now she asked, “What holds it up?”

Angel shrugged. “Nothing much, I suppose.”

The human Dori said, “The superstructure will fall and destroy Paradigm if the reality level ever climbs above twelve.”

Angel laughed bitterly, “No chance of that.”

“General Rosewater wants it gone.”

Angel stubbed out her cigarette. “Okay, Cadet Dori, we’ll do it for Gordon. Ready, Big Venus? Beck? Dori? Here goes nothing.”

And they made it go away.

“Well, that sure worked!” said Angel, impressed. “Let’s get rid of the grid next.”

The human Dori said firmly, “Don’t touch the grid. General Rosewater says it’s vital.”

“What?” asked Angel. “I thought it was just an artifact. A mistake.”

“It was, but now it’s essential. Leave it be.”

“Oh, all right,” said Angel. She turned to her readouts. “Reality’s down to 2.4. I ought to trigger a new cycle now, while I still have something to work with. If it falls below 2.0, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it at all. And it’s going to keep falling, even if they take Big Lazarus out right this instant. The reality field isn’t self-supporting over 3.0. It’ll collapse on its own.” She gave the human Dori a meaningful look.

“Hold off as long as you are able, but then proceed,” said the human Dori calmly. “Give General Rosewater time, but don’t count on his success. But first, charge up Big Venus’ reality engine. But use these settings.” She passed over a piece of paper.

“I can’t start a new cycle with these settings!” exclaimed Angel.

“Set them to their normal levels when you start the cycle. It’ll only take a few seconds. But set them this way until then.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

*  *  *

As Roger neared, he saw one of Big Lazarus’ arms transform.

Dorothy said suddenly. “He has a Thunder weapon!”

The landscape was changed and was a maze of giant boulders, some eight or nine stories tall. Roger ducked behind one of the largest ones. Big Lazarus began to fire, and the boulder started to wither under the onslaught.

“Left or right?” asked Roger.

“Right,” said Dorothy.

As the boulder collapsed, Roger moved Big O to the right and returned fire with his own Thunder. Big Lazarus had guessed wrong and was shooting off to the left. Roger did some superficial damage to Big Lazarus before the latter fired the reality cannon. The landscape around Roger changed sickeningly, and he was now in a snow-covered landscape dotted with bare trees. Roger’s momentary disorientation allowed Big Lazarus to raise his shield without taking further damage.

“He’s not going to let us get close. He’ll get us with the reality cannon.”

“Yes,” said Dorothy.

Roger hesitated, unsure of his next move. Some of his anger had drained away, making it hard for him to continue his suicidal charge. He was trying to choose between saying, “I’m sorry” and “I love you” to Dorothy, when she suddenly said, “Big Duo.”

Big Duo was in the air, flying towards Big Lazarus at high speed. He buzzed Big Lazarus, skimming feet above the top of the energy shield, then, passing him, climbed and turned for a second pass. His legs transformed, revealing a pair of enormous missiles.

Big Lazarus turned hastily and dropped his shield. There was a pause, presumably as he adjusted the elevation of his reality cannon. The missiles fired, headed straight and true. If they hit, there would be only an enormous crater where Big Lazarus had been. Roger didn’t think that Big Lazarus’ energy screen could withstand the blast.

Big Lazarus fired the reality cannon, not waiting for a full charge. The charge must have been very low indeed, because after the blast, the missiles were still missiles, but the smaller kind that Roger carried in Big O. These sped on towards Big Lazarus, but expended themselves harmlessly against his shields.

Big Duo was still there, but to Roger’s horror, he had transformed as well, and was now the double of the Archetype that Seebach had found in her persona of Schwarzwald. The strange, skeletal Megadeus tumbled end over end through the air, until, after falling a thousand feet, it hit the ground, digging a large crater and bursting into monstrous sheets of flame.

Big O had kept moving at high speed throughout this encounter. There was reason to hope that Big Lazarus would not have time to charge his reality cannon again, and it would be a Thunder duel. Here Roger had the advantage. He had more practice and he had an android to help control the weapon.

Half a minute passed. Roger was so close that he suspected that he was vulnerable to even a partially charged reality cannon. Big Lazarus dropped his energy screen. The moment he did so, he stumbled forward. Big Alpha shimmered and became visible. He was standing behind Big Lazarus. His right arm held Big Lazarus in a headlock and he was pounding him with his left.

Big Lazarus fired the reality cannon wildly, missing Roger and changing the landscape to his right into a stretch of fetid marsh.

Roger took up a firing stance. “I know you’re already dead, zombie, but now I’ll send you straight to hell!” He fired the Big O Thunder directly into Big Lazarus’ body, careless of Big Alpha directly behind him. Big Alpha dived out of the way. Big Lazarus, off-balance, could not dodge. His energy screen stayed down, whether through mechanical failure or due to Big Lazarus’ intention to fire a weapon, Roger did not know.

Roger poured fire into Big Lazarus’ torso, tearing huge chunks out of his armor. In a moment, he had penetrated all the way though Big Lazarus’ body.

There was a sudden explosion inside Big Lazarus’ body, followed by a second, unearthly explosion as the reality cannon discharged randomly. Big Lazarus was gone. In his place was a featureless, perfectly level plain marked out with a grid, about two hundred yards on a side. The grid had been visible for some time, but it had been superimposed over the ordinary landscape. Here, there was no landscape. Standing near the edge of this was Big Alpha.

“Will! Are you all right?” called Roger.

Will’s face appeared on the screen. He had a nosebleed and looked a little disoriented from the rough handling he had undergone. Suddenly, he grinned. “That was great! Let’s do it again!”

Dorothy said, “I’d get off that grid if I were you.”

Will looked down. “Yeah, all right.”

But he couldn’t. The grid was growing, and it grew faster and faster as they watched. In a moment, it stretched to the horizon.

*  *  *

Angel said, “The reality field has almost collapsed. Look, there’s nothing left but the grid. I have to start a new cycle right now.”

One of Angel’s monitors suddenly came to life. There was Gordon, in a Megadeus command chair. He wore a sky-blue uniform and wore a white helmet that said “LEV 14.”

Cadet Dori jumped to her feet. “Grandfather! I mean General!” she called happily. “I think we’re ready.”

Gordon beamed. “You know what to do, child. Angel, Dori, Big Venus, just trust in this child and do as she asks.” He looked down at his controls and became busy operating Leviathan 14.

A moment later, Leviathan 14 burst from the ground right in front of Big Venus. His front claws glowed with an unearthly brightness, the only point of color in a gray landscape. Angel cried out in fear.

Cadet Dori said calmly, “Grasp his claws in your hands.”

Angel could hear the trust and certainty in Cadet Dori’s voice. She felt it echoed in the minds of Big Venus and R. Dori. She turned her head around to look at Beck for support. He was standing behind her chair and had his hands on her shoulders. He was grinning at Gordon in appreciation.

Angel reached out with both hands towards the image of Leviathan 14 on the central monitor. Big Venus reached out for the real Leviathan. When Angel’s hands touched the glass, Big Venus gripped the glowing claws.

There was a moment of utter stillness, and then, slowly, Leviathan 14 crumbled into dust.

Angel, shocked, her hands still on the glass of the central monitor, turned her head to see the view from inside Leviathan 14’s cockpit. Gordon’s android had stepped forward, and the two were holding hands. Then the cockpit, too, dissolved into dust, and them along with it.

As Leviathan crumbled, the world returned. Paradigm City was back, just the way it had been, except that the grid was still there, running over the surfaces of buildings and objects, stretching to the horizon.

Angel began to sob. Beck took her in his arms. He held her while he looked at the readouts.

“Reality level is up to 23.7,” he announced, “and we haven’t even triggered a new cycle.”

Angel turned and peered at the monitors through her tears. Beck was right! “And I used to think it was a triumph to get it as high as seven or eight,” she murmured.

The human Dori was Cadet Dori no longer. She wore a pink skirt suit like Angel’s. “Here, inside Big Venus, the reality level is still very low,” she said, her eyes shining. “We have until the grid fades to change reality whichever way we like, and the changes will be permanent.”

Angel recoiled. “Oh, no,” she said. “Not me.”

Beck agreed. “I have my Dori,” he said simply.

R. Dori stepped forward and looked into the human Dori’s eyes. “Be real,” she whispered.

“What, be your real past?” asked the human Dori. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No. Be my little sister. Stay here, with us.”

The human Dori bit her lip. She glanced at Beck and her eyes overflowed with tears. “But, but, but Jason …” she began.

R. Dori hugged her. “There are so many love triangles around here that nobody will even notice one more. Stay. It’ll all work out fine; you’ll see.”

The human Dori nodded. R. Dori closed her eyes and gave Big Venus instructions. When she opened them again, the human Dori was wearing black slacks, a yellow blouse, high-top sneakers, and a dazed expression.

“Welcome home,” whispered R. Dori.

They all jumped when Angel shouted, “Sybil and Dan! We can break the loop they’re stuck in. Get them out of that damned movie!”

A moment later, that, too, was done.

“Anything else?” asked the human Dori, smiling.

“I’m afraid of changing big things,” said Angel, “It always goes wrong.”

“Grandfather agrees,” said the human Dori. “He’s learned his lesson.”

Beck suddenly said, “I want the missing information about building androids and Megadeuses. I’ll bet it’s right there with my stuff, always has been, and I’ll find it when I get home.”

The grid was fading; their opportunity was almost gone. But they managed this as well.

The human Dori said mischievously, “Is there enough left to make Angel a natural blonde?”

Angel was stung, “You little brat! I oughta …”

R. Dori interrupted. “How did the human Dorothy die?”

Beck and Angel were not given the answer, but the two Doris were. Both went rigid, and the human Dori burst into tears. They clung together.

And then the grid was gone, and the world was too real for wishes.

Angel sighed. “Big Venus, let’s get you home. We’ve used your godlike powers enough for one day.”

Beck said, “We’re alive.”

Angel nodded. “Sort of a surprise, isn’t it?”

“And we didn’t even trigger a new cycle.”

Big Venus’ elevator started the long trip down.

“So what happens now?” asked the human Dori.

Angel lit a cigarette. “It’s not my department. Not now. You have to make your own decisions. That’s what freedom’s all about. Roger taught me that.” She blew out a puff of smoke. “Of course, if you ever want advice, look me up. But I won’t accept any responsibility. You’re a big girl.”

_“Some_ people don’t think so,” said the human Dori darkly, glaring at Beck, who recoiled visibly.

“Poor Jason,” said R. Dori. She addressed her little sister, “Dori, have you ever considered the advantages of having your very own R. Jason?”

**[We Have Come to Terms]**


End file.
